


Nothing but Thieves

by RedZipBoots



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 17:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14502252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedZipBoots/pseuds/RedZipBoots
Summary: A telegraph from Lom sends Heyes and Curry back to Devil's Hole.





	1. Chapter 1

Behind a woodpile in the shadows of a narrow alleyway crouched a small scruffy man. He had been there for the past fifteen minutes, fidgeting nervously while he studied a building across the street. Abruptly, he straightened himself to his full height, hitched up his ill-fitting trousers and walked purposefully over to the Sheriff's office.

With one hand on the doorknob the man cautiously looked up and down the street before opening the door. Removing his hat he quickly slipped inside.

Sheriff Lom Trevors sat behind a large leather-topped desk. So absorbed was he with the pile of papers he was thumbing through that he didn't look up or even acknowledge the man who shuffled forward to stand in front of him. After a few seconds the man anxiously cleared his throat.

"Yes?" said the Sheriff, his tone disinterested and his eyes still not moving from his paperwork.

"Um..."

"Come on, I'm a very busy man," came the impatient prompt.

"Ain't we all, Sheriff," the man drawled.

Lom Trevors raised his eyes slowly then opened them wide in astonishment.

"Kyle Murtry, what the blue blazes are you doing here, and in broad daylight too?! Did anyone see you come in?" Lom hastily crossed the room to lock the door. He also pulled the window shade closed.

"Naw, I was real careful, Lom." Kyle grinned nervously, turning his hat round in his hands.

Lom folded his arms across his chest and regarded the diminutive man carefully. "Well, what do you want?"

"I...um...y' see...we...um..." Sheriff's offices made Kyle nervous — he was an outlaw, after all. He guessed it had to be something to do with all the Wanted posters on the walls and the cramped jail cells with their iron bars and solid locks, not to mention the tall, uncompromising lawman standing there sporting a big tin star and a loaded six-gun.

"Come on. Spit it out!" 

Kyle's brow furrowed as he looked uncertainly at the lawman, but he did as he was told and launched a wad of chewed tobacco onto the floor right next to the Sheriff's highly-polished boots. 

Lom's eyes narrowed and he took a deep breath. "Kyle, I meant, tell me why you're here," he said with all the patience he could muster.

"Oh yeah,....um....Wheat sent me to tell ya to get Heyes and the Kid here, real quick."

"Here? To Porterville?"

"Naw. He needs 'em back at the Hole."

"What for? He'd better not be thinking about pulling a job in these parts," Lom added threateningly.

"Naw Sheriff, we's only small time now Wheat's in charge. Hell, it'd take him a month o' Sundays to think up a job as good as Heyes can." Kyle grinned. "Y' know we'd never pull anythin' 'round here anyways, 'specially in your town," Kyle replied with his most innocent wide-eyed expression.

Lom pursed his lips and frowned. "It was just a coincidence that you, Wheat and the others were all in Porterville the night the bank blew sky-high, I suppose?"

Kyle nodded. "Uh, huh. We was on our way to the Tumble T, lookin' for some honest work for a change," he lied. 

Sheriff Trevors returned to his desk. "You'd better tell me what Wheat needs them for and it'd better not be anything illegal."

Kyle Murtry shook his head vehemently. "It ain't, Sheriff. I swear. It's just that... well...this fella, he turned up at the Hole lookin' fer 'em. Says he's a friend a theirs and he needs their help real bad. Nearly done got his head blowed off, ridin' in like that. Jus' as well Johnson ain't no good with that ol' shotgun a his!" 

"Look, I'm not going to get those two back here just because this fella says he knows them and wants some sorta reunion. And besides, they can't go into Devil's Hole — they're not supposed to associate with known outlaws."

Kyle opened his mouth to speak but hastily snapped it shut again. By his reckoning, Hannibal Heyes had returned to Devil's Hole twice since he and Curry began their quest for amnesty but he realized just in time that informing the Sheriff of this fact might not be such a good idea; neither Lom nor the Governor would appreciate Heyes' breach of his amnesty conditions.

"Wheat ain't too happy 'bout feedin' this fella, or his horse, but he don't like the idea of him just ridin' out ag'in neither."

"So, what's so all-fired urgent? This fella can't know they're going straight if he's looking for them at the Hole."

"I dunno the details, Sheriff, but Wheat says it's real important. Matter o' life an' death, even."

Lom was sceptical. "Hmm."

"Yup. So.... ya gonna send Heyes a telegraph?"

Lom stroked his moustache while he considered what he should do. He had some business to attend to in Cheyenne next week and was planning on paying the Governor of Wyoming a visit while he was there. There had been no news from the Governor's office about the amnesty for some time now and he knew Heyes and the Kid were getting jumpy — if the frequency of their telegraphs asking about it were anything to go by. It seemed to him that, up to now, they had done a good job of staying out of trouble and he certainly didn't want anything to go wrong at this stage.

Whilst not wanting to encourage the ex-outlaws to return to Devil's Hole — he suspected that the depth of Heyes' larcenous tendencies were such that he might be tempted to return to his old life once he was there — Lom hoped that if Wheat was planning something big, but ultimately stupid, Heyes' silver tongue might be able to talk him out of it. 

Then there was the risk that if they didn't help this 'friend', he might take it upon himself to go blabbing to all and sundry who Thaddeus Jones and Joshua Smith really were. Just about everyone in Porterville knew that Smith and Jones were friends of his and he didn't fancy his chances of re-election, or of even keeping his job as Sheriff, if the town's dignitaries got to know their real identities. He had, after all, given his approval to a couple of notorious outlaws checking over the bank's security when Miss Porter was in charge.

The Sheriff sighed. "Alright, I'll send Heyes a telegraph, but you're gonna have to take it to the telegraph office. I don't have the time." He pulled open the top drawer of his desk. 

Instinctively, Kyle took a couple of nervous steps backwards preparing to run if the Sheriff produced a pair of handcuffs or a hidden gun. 

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Lom demanded as he placed a small notepad on the desk and dipped his pen in the inkwell.

"Nowhere," Kyle hitched up his trousers and squared his shoulders with his own particular air of bravado.

Lom began to draft the telegraph. "What's the name of this friend of theirs?" 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Lamplight illuminated the word Telegraph which was ornately etched on the Wells Fargo office window. Dusk was falling; the nights were closing in and the air now held more than a hint of the approaching winter.

When Lom had handed over the note together with a fifty cent piece he had been sure to make his instructions clear. Kyle was to wait somewhere secluded until the telegraph office was empty and almost ready to close up; that way he was less likely to be seen. So, for the second time that day Kyle Murtry crouched in an alleyway, waiting. 

He watched as the lamplighter did his rounds, lighting the sparse street lanterns with the aid of a long pole, and once the office was empty of customers and there was no one around to see him, he hot-footed it across the boardwalk and in through the door.

From behind the counter a uniformed clerk regarded the scruffy cowpoke. "Can I help you?" he asked, unsmiling.

Kyle thrust a crumpled piece of paper across the counter toward the clerk together with the money. "Need this sendin', real quick."

The telegrapher picked the note up between finger and thumb and regarded it with a look of distain.   
It read....

To: J. Smith and T. Jones  
Peak View Hotel Clearlake Colorado

Urgent you return to DH. Jim S###### is there. Needs your help.

Sheriff Lom Trevors  
Porterville Wyoming 

Noting the name of the sender the telegrapher's attitude changed completely and he looked up to enquire politely about the rest of the word that followed the S, which was illegible. To him, the smudge looked a lot like a dirty thumbprint. 

The office was empty.

Tutting to himself he tossed the coin in the cash drawer. It was time he closed up. His wife was making her special pot roast and a trip along the main street to the Sheriff's office would make him late for supper. Adjusting his visor the telegrapher gave a small shrug of his shoulders and began to tap out the message on his equipment, leaving out the missing letters of the S word.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Kid Curry strode through the open door of the saloon, the light at his back throwing his long shadow across the boardwalk and onto the dusty street beyond. When he reached the middle of the street he stopped, flung his arms wide and turned to the man following him. 

"Look, Heyes, I'm not sayin' you shouldha stayed in the game all night. I'm just sayin', I was surprised you quit when ya did."

"Will you keep your voice down," griped Heyes, checking that there was nobody within earshot to hear his real name. "I thought you'd be glad I didn't give that young fella a chance to get upset, 'cause we both know that's what would have happened if I'd won another pot. Then we'd have been in all kinds of trouble 'cause that gun of yours would have got involved and then maybe the Sheriff, and...." 

Heyes paused mid-sentence and frowned as his partner's exact words came back to him. "Anyhow, I didn't quit! I left the game at an appropriate juncture."

"An appropriate what?"

"Juncture. It means moment, point in time." 

Kid shook his head and walked on. "Sheesh! Why didn't you just say that? No, don't tell me. You read that fancy word in a book by that fella, what's-his-name."

"What fella?" 

"You know. The one with the stupid alias."

Brown eyes rolled skywards. "Oh, you mean Mark Twain. It wasn't Twain, it was Dickens." 

"Pfftt."

Hannibal Heyes smiled to himself and patted the three hundred dollars folded neatly in his shirt pocket as he followed his disgruntled partner into the lobby of the Peak View Hotel. Heyes was more than content with his winnings tonight, even if the Kid wasn't. He certainly had no intention of upsetting anyone over a poker game. Clearlake was a nice, quiet little town and, all being well, they planned on staying a while — maybe even spend the winter. Nobody knew them here, especially the Sheriff, unlike the last two towns where they had been spotted after only one day and had to make a quick exit. This had put the Kid in a somewhat ornery mood and Heyes was hoping that a prolonged stay in Clearlake would shake him out of it.

He was just about to place his foot on the worn red carpet of the stairway when a voice hailed him from the front desk. "Mister Smith! Excuse me, Mister Smith, I have a telegraph for you."

"For me?" Heyes wasn't expecting a telegraph.

"It's addressed to both yourself and Mister Jones." The desk clerk held out a small yellow envelope.

Despite his rising concern Heyes smiled as he thanked the man but a frown began to crease his brow as he made his way up the stairs. Nobody knew where they were except Lom and these days a telegraph very rarely brought good news. It was often a request to do a 'job' or a 'favour' for the Governor with the promise that it would further their bid for amnesty. Lately, however, these promises were starting to wear a little thin.

Closing the door to their room behind him he leant against it and opened the envelope.

"Whatcha got there?" Kid Curry deposited his gun belt on a table by the window before sitting down on the adjacent chair and pulling off his left boot.

Without replying, Heyes pushed himself away from the door and held out a piece of paper. The boot dropped to the floor as Kid took the telegraph, glanced at it and looked up, puzzled.

"I don't get it."

"Neither do I; but it has to be genuine. Only Lom knows we're here." 

"DH. Does that mean what I think it does?"

"Kid, the only DH I can think of is Devil's Hole." 

After launching his hat in the direction of the table where it landed precisely alongside Kid's holster, Heyes slowly lowered himself onto the edge of the nearest bed. He raked his hands through his hair, his quick mind working on the possible meanings of the telegraph.

"How come Lom wants us to go back there?" asked Kid. "We're not supposed to go near the place. He's always remindin' us not to have any dealin's with outlaws and that place is full of 'em!"

Heyes smirked. "I wonder what he'd say if he heard about me being a guide for that party of fake archy-ologists, or taking Mrs Phillips into the hideout to find that Hamilton fella."

"Not forgettin' Wheat and Kyle helpin' us out a couple of times."

"It's more the Jim S part that's got me worried." Heyes began pacing back and forth. "Why would Big Jim Santana be back at Devil's Hole anyway? He should be having a grand old time over in San Francisco with Mrs Phillips."

"Yeah, and why would he need us? He knows we're goin' straight, don't he?"

Heyes stopped pacing and chewed at his bottom lip. "Yeah, he knows. I just hope he's not figuring on finally pulling that job at the Wells Fargo clearing house — the one I talked him out of."

"But, what if he is gonna do it ...?"

"... and Lom has heard about it and wants us to stop him," finished Heyes as he recommenced his pacing.

"Sheesh! Big Jim don't exactly take too kindly to being told he can't do somethin'."

"It's the only thing I can think of right now." Heyes gave a tight smile. "Maybe the answer will come to me later."

Kid began tugging at his right boot only to stop suddenly and reach into his vest pocket. "Later?" He pulled out his pocket watch. The mottled dial showed eleven-thirty. "Aaww, no," he groaned. 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

The next morning the two men sat in the hotel dining room, each clutching a hot cup of coffee while they waited to be served breakfast.

Bleary, blue eyes glared across the table. "So? You figured it out?"

Bleary, brown eyes closed and their owner breathed a heavy sigh. "No." 

"No?! You keep me awake half the night tossin' and turnin' in that squeaky old bed and ya still ain't got it figured?" 

Heyes shrugged his shoulders. "Guess we'll just have to go find out for ourselves."

"We could have decided that yesterday and both got some sleep," growled Kid. 

Much to Heyes' relief, the waitress pushed through the kitchen door carrying two plates containing generous portions of pancakes, eggs and bacon. Eating would occupy his partner for a while; it would also stop him from casting that gunfighter stare over the rim of his coffee cup. Kid was always more amiable when he had a full stomach.

Ten minutes later Kid Curry's plate was empty. The blond sat back in his chair, his eyes brighter and his demeanour more amenable.

"So, we leavin' today?"

Heyes swallowed a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "No time like the present." He skewered a piece of bacon.

"Dammit. I really like this little town."

"I know. I like it too, but if we don't get in and out of Devil's Hole within the next two weeks we stand a good chance of getting caught by an early snowfall. You know how the weather can be up there." Heyes took a gulp of coffee. "I don't know about you, Kid, but I really don't want to get snowed in with Wheat and Kyle."

Appalled, Kid Curry stared at his partner. "Well, when ya put it like that..." He pushed back his chair. "You finish up here," he said quickly. "I'll pack our saddlebags and meet you at the livery stable."


	2. Chapter 2

Kid Curry's keen eyes scanned the surrounding red-brown bluffs of Deadman Point as Hannibal Heyes raised his old Schofield revolver into the air and fired the requisite three shots. They waited a minute or two, watching, but none of the outlaw gang appeared and waved them in.

Pursing his lips, Heyes leant on his saddle horn and glanced sideways at his partner. "Either that knot-head Wheat has done away with a lookout here, in which case I've just wasted three bullets, or whoever is on watch is staying outta sight for some reason."

A snort came from under the brim of a brown hat. "My money is on you wastin' three bullets."

"What would he want to go and do a darn fool thing like that for? Not having a lookout at the entrance to the hideout, that's downright crazy!"

"Heyes, this is Wheat we're talkin' about."

"Hmmph!" Heyes shook his head in disgust and nudged his horse forward.

As they rode on in silence through the familiar surroundings of the Devil's Hole canyon both Heyes and Curry experienced a sudden, and totally unexpected, sense of loss. For six years of their lives this isolated and unforgiving landscape had been a place of refuge, of fellowship, celebration and disappointment; a place they had called 'home'. Neither man had realized until now how much they missed its familiarity, not to mention its protection. 

Back in their outlawing days it had been so easy to leave the lawmen, bounty hunters and posses searching the surrounding countryside while they and their men vanished through the numerous concealed passageways in the canyon walls to meet up again near these bluffs. 

Heyes couldn't recall feeling this way the last couple of times he had been back here, but he assumed it was because this time the Kid was with him. Family made it 'home'. 

Coming to a fork in the trail Kid automatically turned his horse to the left while Heyes turned to the right.

"Hey!" called Heyes. "This way."

Kid reined in his horse and looked back over his shoulder. "You forgettin', Heyes? This is the quick route, along the riverbank."

"Not any more, it isn't. We gotta go this way."

"Uh, how come?"

"When I was here last time the Spring rains had been real heavy," explained Heyes, "And they came at exactly the same time as the snowmelt. Washed out the bend and brought down a big rockslide on the far bank near Poacher's Nook. I figure the river has changed course by now so that trail will be washed out. We'd best go this way."

Kid rejoined his partner. "Sheesh! And I thought it was just us that was changin'. Guess the Hole is too."

Twenty minutes later and they could hear the waterfall. After five more they rounded a bend and the hideout came into view. 

A loud whistle from a shotgun-toting man stationed atop the waterfall signalled their arrival, prompting several of the gang members to emerge from the bunkhouse. The riders halted by the small creek that crossed the clearing at the centre of the hideout, but they remained in their saddles. Both men knew that, as visitors, they should stay exactly where they were until invited to do otherwise. 

Kyle waved his hat as he jogged toward them. "Howdy, Heyes," he chirped through his ever-present wad of tobacco. "Nice ta see ya, Kid."

"Likewise, Kyle."

"Y'all got the telegraph."

"Yeah, thanks for that," said Heyes, sardonically. "Now, what the—" 

"You two! Take your guns outta your holsters and give 'em to Kyle," shouted a tall, well-built man sporting a droopy sandy-coloured moustache who had appeared at the door of leader's cabin. 

Wheat Carlson took a step forward to stand on the small covered porch. He folded his arms across his chest in an attempt to appear every inch the outlaw leader. Neither Heyes nor Curry thought he succeeded.

"Then ya can get off your horses. We need to talk." Wheat turned and re-entered the cabin.

Heyes raised his eyebrows and gave a wry smile while Kid scowled at having to part with his precious Colt .45. He held out the weapon butt first. Kyle took it somewhat reverently along with Heyes' Schofield. 

As the two men dismounted, the rest of the gang gathered round greeting them warmly. Amid the hand shaking and back slapping nobody noticed that Wheat had returned to the cabin door until he cleared his throat, loudly. 

Heyes tilted his hat to the back of his head. "Guess we'd better go see what the leader wants to talk to us about, Kid," he said, barely containing his amusement.

Kid said nothing. Surrendering his gun had put him in no mood to tolerate any of Wheat's spurious posturing. 

There had never been any doubt in anyone's mind that Wheat Carlson had always coveted the role of leader of the Devil's Hole Gang. For several months before Heyes and Curry had left to try for amnesty Wheat had sought to make things as awkward as possible between Heyes and the rest of the men. He had constantly questioned Heyes' rules, criticized his plans, and put him down at every opportunity. 

However, it wasn't until the day of the Columbine train holdup that the men's loyalty had finally wavered. Wheat had declared that he had a better idea than Heyes when it came to opening the Brooker 202 safe and the men had decided, unanimously, to go along with it. Ultimately, his idea had failed but it had gained him a little more respect.

Heyes had, for the most part, ignored Wheat's efforts to supplant him as leader but there had been several occasions when Kid Curry had deemed it necessary to get a little mean, even to the point of drawing his gun, in order to put the man firmly in his place. It hadn't come as much of a surprise to the gunman, therefore, when Wheat had wanted their firearms removed.

Crossing the creek using the two wobbly planks masquerading as a bridge Heyes and the Kid sauntered through the door of the leader's cabin. It looked the same as it had the day they had left, only much dirtier. The table at which Heyes had worked for hours planning every detail of each of their many bank and train robberies was still there, as were the rickety old chairs and the small tapestry-covered couch. The bookshelf on the wall still tilted to the left but was now covered in a thick layer of dust. Heyes doubted that any of the books had been touched in the past year and he vowed to liberate one or two by way of his saddlebags before they rode out.

There was one item of furniture that was new to them. A large dark wood, high-backed chair with ornately carved arms and legs stood next to the fireplace. It dominated the room and this was where Wheat now sat. Hannibal Heyes fought down the urge to laugh out loud.

"Take a seat, boys," Wheat indicated the couch with a magnanimous hand gesture.

Kid flopped down onto the threadbare cushions but Heyes lowered himself slowly, looking around. "Like what you've done with the place, Wheat," he said, nodding appreciatively, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

Wheat's eyes narrowed. He knew little had changed since Heyes had left. 

Heyes didn't give Wheat time to work it out. "Got any coffee?" 

"Oh, oh yeah. Sure." Wheat replied hurriedly, almost leaping out of his chair.

Heyes held up a hand. "It's okay, Wheat. You stay where you are. I'll get it." 

Moving toward the fireplace he picked up two cups from the roughly hewn plank that served as a mantelpiece and half filled each of them from the coffee pot balanced precariously on the edge of the fire. Heyes handed one to a still stony-faced Kid Curry before taking a mouthful from the other and nonchalantly leaning one arm against the fireplace, his customary pose when he was leader. 

Wheat gave him a hard look.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Did you want one?" His partner's feigned surprise and apology almost brought a smile to the Kid's lips.

Wheat's brow furrowed. "Sit down, Heyes." His tone not as inviting as before.

Hannibal Heyes' left dimple began to put in an appearance as he dropped into the seat, casually resting his right boot on his left knee.

"Now Wheat, what's all this about?" he demanded. "Getting Lom to send us a telegraph!"

"Boys, I'd a sent Kyle or Lobo to get ya but...well, y'all don't keep in touch now you're goin' straight. How's that workin' out', by the way?"

"It's a lot like bein' on the dodge, Wheat — only with hotel beds," said Kid, acidly.

Wheat ignored Kid's remark and continued. "A friend of yours came a-visitin'. Says he needs you two to help him out, real urgent like." 

Kid swallowed a mouthful of coffee and grumbled. "Yeah, that's what the telegraph said. Why don't ya try tellin' us somethin' we don't already know?"

"I was just gettin' to it, Kid. Sheesh! See this goin' straight ain't improved your temper none."

Curry's icy stare hit with full force and Wheat shifted uncomfortably in his grand chair. Even disarmed, the gunman could still unnerve him.

Heyes shook his head and frowned. "Can't guess who that could be, Wheat. We don't have many friends...,"

Wheat ducked his head. "Pfftt. Can't say I'm surprised," he sniped under his breath. 

"...except for Lom, Clem, Soapy...."

"Silky, Georgie, Big Mac McCreedy..." Kid chimed in.

"... Jessie and Belle Jordan..." added Heyes.

"...and their two girls, Beth and Bridget..."

"... we can't leave out good ol' Harry Briscoe," Heyes looked at Kid. The Kid nodded in agreement. "And then there's—"

"He rode in here 'bout a week ago, bold as brass," interrupted Wheat loudly. "Didn't take to him comin' in here demandin' to see ya. A body shouldn't just come ridin' in uninvited, friend or no friend. You should know that."

Heyes' eyes darkened a little and his tone hardened at the inference that he didn't know the rules — rules that he himself had made. 

"Tell me," he asked, "How long has it been since you stopped posting a lookout over at Deadman Point? Our 'friend' wouldn't have been able to 'just ride in' if you'd had someone on watch. Me and the Kid gave the signal but there was nobody up there to hear it. So, when you think about it, Wheat," he shrugged, "We just 'rode right in' too. That's no way to run a hideout!" 

"That's my business, Heyes, not yours." Wheat stated, haughtily.

"So, where is this friend of ours?" asked Kid.

"Got him locked up in the old shack where he can't cause no trouble. Figured that was the best place for him 'til y'all got here." 

"You've had him locked up all this time?" Heyes glanced uncomfortably at Kid. 

If Wheat had locked up Big Jim Santana someone was going to pay — possibly with their life — or at the very least get a sore jaw, once he was freed. Having experienced the full force of Big Jim Santana's fist in the not too distant past Heyes certainly didn't plan on having that dubious pleasure again anytime soon.

"Sure have. I'll show ya." Wheat rose from his grand chair and walked outside. Heyes and Curry heard his footsteps leave the porch, caught each other's eye and remained on the couch sipping their coffee.

Seconds later Wheat reappeared in the doorway. He glared at the two men and jerked his head indicating that they should follow before striding off again.

Heyes smirked and stood up. "C'mon, Kid. It's time to find out why Big Jim's here."

The former leaders caught up with Wheat at the tumbledown shack next to the bunkhouse.

"Is he loose in there?" Heyes asked, cautiously.

"Course not! I ain't stupid!" 

Kid Curry glanced down at Wheat's gun. His holster was feeling unnaturally light and he was wishing he had demanded his own gun back before they left the cabin. The thought of putting his faith in Wheat Carlson to provide protection was not a move he considered 'smart'.

Eyeing the door cautiously Heyes took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and straightened his hat. "Okay, Wheat, open her up."

Wheat pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it into the rusty padlock. He pushed the door open a fraction and stood back. In the gloom of the shack they could just see a man's feet tied to a chair. Hinges creaked in protest as Heyes tentatively opened the door a little wider. Daylight flooded into the dark interior. 

Both he and the Kid stared in amazement before saying in unison, "Jim Stokely!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Am I glad to see you!" Blinking at the bright light Jim Stokely grinned at Heyes and Curry before giving Wheat a dirty look.

Heyes' mind was racing. The last time they had seen Jim Stokely he was tied to a chair in a hotel room in Santa Fe with five hundred dollars stuffed in his shirt pocket, a bandana around his mouth and a murderous look in his eye. They had left him there while they high-tailed it out of town never thinking that they would see the man again. That was a little short of a year ago. 

Even in his wildest imaginings Heyes would never have expected Jim to turn up at Devil's Hole. Well, why would he? As far as he was concerned they were plain old Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones, a couple of drifters; not Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, bank and train robbers. 

Initially he feared the worst, that Stokely was planning to turn them in for the bounty on their heads, and meeting up with them in Devil's Hole only confirmed who they were. After all, twenty thousand dollars was a sizeable amount of money — enough to even tempt a 'friend'. There was also the possibility that a lawman or bounty hunter might somehow be involved. 

"Well, there's a face I never expected to see again. What are you doing here, Jim?" Heyes asked, while doing his best to fight his mounting disquiet. 

"If you'll untie me and let me outta this calaboose, I'll tell you."

Sensing his partner's unease and the reason behind it, Kid felt now might be a good time to show Jim that outlaws, even reformed ones, don't take too kindly to surprises. Besides, he wasn't in the best of moods mainly due to having been relieved of his gun, so he folded his arms across his chest and slowly shook his head. "Uh, uh. Start talkin' — now."

"Or what? You gonna tie me up? Oh no, wait a minute, somebody got there first this time," taunted Stokely, foolishly ignoring Kid's threatening stance. He hadn't failed to notice the absence of the gunman's Colt.45.

The grin wasn't even halfway across Jim's face before Kid had turned and plucked Wheat's revolver from its holster, aiming it straight at him. 

"You just dragged us half way across the Territory, Jim, so it had better be real important. Now, like I said... start talkin'." The friendly blue eyes that Jim was familiar with were now cold and dangerous.

"Like I told this here fella," Jim jerked his head toward Wheat, "I need your help."

Heyes regarded him steadily. "Oh, so you're not just here for the money? To turn us in for the reward?"

"What reward would that be Josh—, uh, Hannibal?" asked Stokely. Wheat snickered into his hand at the use of Heyes' first name. 

"The name's Heyes, but you can just keep on calling me Joshua. You're saying you don't know about the bounty on our heads? Unbelievable." Heyes gave a short, humourless laugh. "Don't try to chump us, Jim. If you know who we are then you sure know about the reward."

"And folks don't come ridin' into Devil's Hole askin' for help," added Kid. 

Brown eyes narrowed. "How did you find out, Jim? You read a Wanted poster or something?"

Resignedly, Stokely sighed. "Yeah, I saw a poster. It was on the wall of the Sheriff's office, back in Santa Fe. I was waiting while the Sheriff filled in the paperwork so I could claim my money from the robbery and when I saw it, everything just clicked into place right there. I'd always had my suspicions that you two might have been on the wrong side of the law so when I read the descriptions on those posters I just put two and two together and came up with Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry." He glanced from one to the other. "Look, boys, I could have told the Sheriff right there and then, but I didn't. If he had sent a posse out real quick they might have caught you, so I kept quiet."

Heyes looked at his partner. A mute conversation ensued.

"C'mon now, fellas. We're still friends ain't we?" cajoled Jim, watching them carefully. "It really doesn't matter to me what your names are. I know I did a stupid thing coming here but... well, the truth is, I'm desperate."

Heyes threw his arms in the air and let them drop to his sides with a slap. "Alright, alright, we might as well hear what he has to say, but not in here. Cut him loose, Wheat."

Wheat Carlson took a step forward then hesitated. "Hey! I'm the leader now, remember. I give the orders, Heyes, not you and anyway, I ain't sure if I trust this fella yet."

Clearly exasperated, Kid muttered, "Just do it." 

Stokely looked at the three men standing in front of him. He had assumed that Heyes and Curry still led the Devil's Hole Gang and that this man Wheat was just looking after things until they returned. 

"It'll be fine, Wheat," said Heyes. "Jim's already done one stupid thing, he's not gonna do another. Are you Jim?" 

"Absolutely not, boys." Stokely groaned with relief as Wheat freed his arms and legs. He stood up stiffly.

"I'll be havin' my gun back now," Kid demanded, staring in disgust at the weapon in his hand as he un-cocked it and held it out to Wheat. "You really should get yourself a new pistol. This here's a piece o' junk." 

Appearing a little offended at Kid's appraisal of his firearm Wheat yelled over his shoulder, "Kyle!" A face peered around the bunkhouse door. "Bring Heyes and the Kid their guns."

"But, Wheat, I think I'm gonna win this hand and the pot's kinda big. Can't it—?"

Wheat had just opened his mouth to repeat the order when Kid Curry growled, "Now." Kyle instantly disappeared inside and returned with the confiscated weapons. Heyes just holstered his but Kid took his time, checking each chamber before rolling it smoothly back where it belonged, low on his thigh.

"We'll talk in the cabin. C'mon." Heyes seized Jim's arm and marched him across the clearing.

No matter what the time of year daylight hours were shorter than average in the Devil's Hole canyon, the surrounding mountains and the close proximity of the bluffs saw to that. In the summer months the air stayed warm until quite late in the day but now the season was changing it cooled rapidly, and all four men were thankful for the fire glowing in the cabin's grate. 

Wheat placed a fresh log onto the embers. He stayed leaning against the fireplace while the wood hissed and spat, watching for any sparks hitting the wooden floorboards.

Heyes struck a match and lit the large kerosene lamp which stood in the middle of the table. "Sit down," he instructed, pulling out one rickety chair while indicating Jim should take the other. 

"I'd rather stand, if you don't mind. I've been sitting plenty, tied up in that shack, and—"

Heyes studied him, unblinking. Jim sat.

Kid Curry dropped his hat on the couch and leant his back against the closed cabin door.

"Wheat, do you think you could get our guest some fresh coffee?" asked Heyes. Wheat reached for a tin on a nearby shelf before Heyes added, "From the bunkhouse. Have Travis make it, will ya, please. That stuff earlier was like...like...."

"Yours?" volunteered Kid.

Heyes aimed a humourless grin at his partner then looked back at Wheat. "Anyway, would you mind?" 

Kid politely stepped aside and opened the door. Scowling and muttering the odd expletive, Wheat took a cloth, picked up the almost empty and very hot, coffee pot and stomped off toward the bunkhouse.

Heyes was pleased to have got Wheat out of the way so easily; he didn't want him to hear what Jim had to say for fear he should think that the Devil's Hole gang should get involved too. So, as soon as the door was closed he leant forward on the table and got straight to the point. 

"What's so all-fired important that you had to risk your neck coming here?"

"It's not for me. It's for Sarah."

"Sarah?"

"My sister. You remember Sarah, don't you?"

"How could we forget? We trailed over half of New Mexico for weeks tracking the two of you down, not to mention trying persuade her to return home to Mister Henderson," replied Heyes, a little testily.

"Well, she's in trouble. Big trouble."

The mention of a pretty lady being in trouble aroused Kid's interest. "What kinda trouble?"

"She's gonna lose the ranch."

"Don't tell me you didn't go back there," said Kid. "You didn't leave her to run that place all on her own, did ya?"

"No, of course I didn't. What do you take me for?" Jim glared at the blond gunman.

"Right now, I ain't quite decided," Curry said evenly.

Jim looked aggrieved but continued, "When I got back from Santa Fe it took a while to work out how much money that crooked lawyer, Bob Foster, had stolen from Hank over the years. When we eventually came to an amount we took the case to Judge Elkins, he's the local Circuit Judge and he ruled that Foster's law business should be sold to the first interested buyer and the money he stole from Hank should be returned to Sarah from the proceeds."

"Sounds like a good solution. So, what's the problem?" asked Heyes.

"Foster's brother. Well,... step-brother."

"Showed up for the money, did he?" asked Kid. 

"Not exactly. Emmett Dearborn, that's his name, was there in Amity City all along. You see, nobody knew Foster even had a brother because their names are different. He runs the local Land Office and owns a fair-sized spread that shares a border with Sarah's. He's claiming more than half of her land belongs to him. That's one hell of an acreage, boys."

"Can he back up this claim?" asked Heyes.

"He says he's got the deeds to the land and that Hank was grazing his cattle on it illegally. He doesn't only want the land back, he wants some sort of restitution."

"Restitution! For what?" Heyes rankled.

"Loss of cattle sales, cost of feed because he couldn't use that land for grazing. You name it, he's thought of it. It'll ruin Sarah."

"She'll have some money from Foster's business. That'll help."

"She might; if it's ever sold. I think Dearborn may be bluffing but first I need to find out whether the deeds even exist and, if they do, whose name is on them. Hank may have given them to Foster for safekeeping but I figure it's more'n likely Foster stole them outta Hank's safe and gave them to his brother." 

"Jim, if the deeds did have Hank's name on them this fella Dearborn has probably destroyed them and had fake ones drawn up by now. It's over a year since Hank was murdered," reasoned Heyes.

"I know that but.... Look, the Judge is coming to Amity City again in a couple of week's time. He's gonna take a look at any documents we can produce and then make a final ruling. We need to find out if Dearborn has Hank's deeds."

"We?" stressed Kid.

"Well...you will help, won't you?" Jim looked from one to the other. "That's the only reason I risked my neck coming out here."

"Now, Jim, there's something you need to know about us, we—." Heyes was interrupted by the sound of a boot kicking the door. When Kid pulled it open Wheat entered with a coffee pot in one hand and mugs in the other. "Me and Thaddeus, we'll need to discuss it a little." 

Jim nodded.

As Wheat busily handed out mugs of coffee, Heyes felt that it was probably time he showed a little deference toward the current leader of the Devil's Hole Gang. After all, it had been Wheat's idea to ride all the way to Montana, along with Kyle and a load of dynamite, in order to break the Kid out of jail and prevent him from being hanged for murder. The fact that the real Kid Curry wasn't in jail nor had his life been in jeopardy was beside the point.

"Wheat, is it alright with you if we stay here tonight and set off at first light tomorrow?" he asked.

Wheat appeared to grow in stature before their eyes. He was pleased that Heyes hadn't just assumed they could stay and in doing so had at last given credence to his new status. 

"Don't see why not. There's spare cots over in the bunkhouse, enough for the three of yous." 

Kid sighed inwardly. He had hoped that he and Heyes could bunk down in the cabin's back room. Sharing a bunkhouse with several other men did not appeal to him much, especially as he already knew that all of them snored — loudly.

"Y'all can join us for supper too. It'll be ready soon. Travis bagged a deer the other day and he's cookin' up a big pot o' stew."

Heyes shook the man's hand. "Thanks, Wheat." Then he grinned. "Travis is cooking? That is good news." Three bemused faces turned his way. "Well, if Travis is cooking, at least it stands a good chance of being edible!"

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Supper was, indeed, edible. So edible, in fact, there was barely a scraping of gravy remaining in the bottom of the large cast-iron pot by the time everyone had eaten their fill. 

Kid used a chunk of bread to mop up the last of his second helping and pushed his plate away with a satisfied sigh. He turned as his partner appeared at his shoulder, a cup of coffee in each hand.  
Heyes eyes motioned toward the door. Taking the proffered cup and pulling his coat from the back of his chair Kid followed Heyes outside.

They sat in quiet contemplation for a few minutes on a bench near the bunkhouse window, sipping their coffee and listening to the familiar sounds of the night accompanied by the bubbling of the creek as it crossed the clearing in front of them.

Heyes was the first to speak. "So what do you think?" 

"You were right, Heyes, Travis is a good cook."

"I'm not talking about the food! I mean about us helping Jim." 

Kid Curry watched the steam rise from his cup before he answered. "It could be a trap."

"Mmm, I thought of that."

"But, then again, he took an awful big risk coming here. Not many people would do that, even for the reward."

"I thought of that, too."

"I like Jim and I like Mrs Henderson but I don't think it's us they need. They need a lawyer."

Heyes took a few mouthfuls of his coffee as he considered this. "I don't know that Mrs Henderson would put much faith a lawyer after what Foster did. Anyway, lawyers cost money and, if it turns out she don't own the land, then she will need every dollar she's got for this restitution Jim was talking about."

Kid blew out his cheeks and scratched his blond curls. "Maybe Jim's hopin' we'll rob a bank for him so's they won't have to worry about the money."

"Mmm, that's possible. We'll just have to make sure he understands we don't do that sorta thing anymore."

"So, are we gonna ride out with him tomorrow?" asked Kid.

"I can probably come up with any number of reasons why we shouldn't, but...." Heyes sighed. "After all, Kid, Lom did send for us. He must have thought we could help, somehow." Heyes' brown eyes searched his cousin's face in the faint moonlight. "You okay with it?"

Kid gave a nonchalant shrug. "I guess we should be kinda flattered."

"I guess."

"You got any ideas yet?"

Heyes shook his head. "Not yet, but I'll have something figured by the time we get to Amity City".

Kid smiled at his cousin's self-belief but his eyes contained a warning. "You'd better have, Heyes, 'cause if you don't have a plan, and I mean a plan that don't involve us robbin' a bank, Jim might just start lookin' at claiming the twenty thousand dollars on our heads instead."

There was a thud as the crown of Heyes' old black hat hit the bunkhouse wall; with a groan he stared up at the silver sliver of the new moon. Swigging the last of his coffee he got to his feet, his fingers delving into his coat's inside pocket to pull out a pack of cards. 

"How about a few hands of poker with the boys?"

Kid raised his eyebrows. "What makes you think they're gonna play with you, Heyes? They won't have forgotten how much money you used to win offa them."

"Course they're gonna play." A confident grin spread across Heyes' face. "It'll be like old times."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Jim Stokely took a sip from his whiskey glass and watched Hannibal Heyes shuffle the cards with the finesse of a professional gambler. His eyes then drifted around the table watching each gang member in turn. Now that Wheat had returned to the leader's cabin, the way the men responded to Heyes Jim found intriguing. It wasn't only the man's quick wit or his big laugh that they responded to — they genuinely appeared to enjoy being in his company. There still remained a sense of respect, maybe even loyalty, something he would not have expected now Heyes was no longer in charge. He wondered whether the men really trusted Wheat and therefore missed Heyes' leadership. 

Jim had always recognized Heyes' intelligence and strength of character but today, in one brief look from those dark brown eyes there had been an intensity that he hadn't seen before. An intensity that promised untold trouble if you crossed him.

Slowly fanning the five cards dealt to him, Jim turned his attention to the other half of this infamous partnership. Slouching in his chair, his long legs stretched out and away from the table at an angle, the languid figure of Kid Curry was the epitome of a man comfortable with himself and his surroundings. 

Despite the outward affability, with which Jim was already familiar, he had witnessed a very different side to this man too. It appeared that here in Devil's Hole just one word was all it took for people to do his bidding. When he wasn't flashing that grin of his, the quiet menace that emanated from Kid Curry Jim found disturbing, to say the least. This, a reputed deadly aim, together with a draw almost faster than the naked eye could see, made him somebody you certainly didn't want to cross.

Stokely was certain that he had done the right thing in seeking them out. Intelligent and resourceful men who could handle themselves in a tight spot were exactly what he needed.


	4. Chapter 4

It was mid-morning by the time the three riders had passed through Devil's Hole canyon and were making their way through the outlying hills when Heyes held out his right hand, palm up. A tiny, wisp of white came to rest on his weathered leather glove. 

Kid Curry rarely missed anything his partner did. "Oh, ho! That sure was close!" 

"What? What was close?" queried Jim, trying not to sound alarmed.

"There's snow in the air," said Heyes. "Weather in these parts can be a little unusual. Looks like we got out just in time."

"I don't understand."

"When it snows in Devil's Hole, Jim, it really snows," explained Kid. "Another few days and chances are we'd have had to stay 'til Spring."

"And being snowed in with a bunch of bored outlaws...., Heyes added. "Well, let's just say things can get a little lively." 

"I'm sure glad we're headin' south. C'mon let's get to Forada, spend the night there, then we can take the mountain pass tomorrow when the horses are fresh." Kid spurred his gelding on, keen to put any threat of early snow as far behind them as possible.

Much to their relief the weather stayed fine and they made good progress, arriving in Forada just as the sun was beginning to set. Having left their mounts in the care of the young lad at the livery stable they trudged wearily to the hotel to arrange their own accommodation for the night. Then, in dire need of refreshment, the three men took their pick of the saloons in town where they found a quiet table against the far wall, opposite the bar.

Now that he knew for certain that his two companions were wanted men, Jim Stokely found himself picking up on all manner of things that he had failed to notice before. 

On entering the town both Heyes and Curry would have, to the casual observer, appeared relaxed and unconcerned but in fact they were extremely vigilant, taking particular note of the whereabouts of the Sheriff's office and checking out the side streets as they rode past. Jim assumed they were mentally forming a map of the town in case they had to make a speedy exit. 

Here in the saloon he was sure they had deliberately chosen that particular table and once seated, both men scanned the busy bar from under the brims of their hats. With his back to the wall Kid Curry lazed in his seat, but Jim managed to catch the almost imperceptible movement as he flicked off the retaining loop that held his revolver in its holster.

A buxom young blonde with pink feathers in her hair, wearing a red low-cut dress and a friendly smile sashayed over to their table. The three men ordered beers. They also decided to risk a bowl of stew each but only after she had given her word that it was freshly made that day. Having fallen foul to several-day-old saloon food in the past they were understandably cautious and usually only risked it if there was no cafe in town, or were down to their last six bits. Neither was the case here — they were just hungry and it was convenient.

As the girl walked back toward the bar Kid's gaze followed her swinging hips.

"Oh, no you don't," muttered Heyes, giving his partner a sideways glance.

Blue eyes blinked in innocence. "But, Heyes, I was only thinkin'..."

"I know what you was only thinkin'. Forget it. She's very tempting but we haven't got money to waste on women."

"Waste?!"

Heyes ignored the indignant exclamation and continued, "Besides, we need to be back on the trail again real early and I don't want to be waiting around half the morning for you to tear yourself away from her bed."

Jim chuckled. On their journey to Santa Fe he had become aware of the Kid's penchant for blonde saloon girls which had resulted in them having several late starts.

"What do you mean we haven't got money? We still have that stake from Clearlake and you won a fair bit off the boys last night," challenged Kid.

"Yeah, I won a few pots but I did go kinda easy on them. Anyway, it wasn't what I'd call a 'fair bit', and we'll need all the money we've got to pay for our keep when we get to Amity City."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that, boys. You're more than welcome to stay at the ranch with Sarah and me," offered Jim.

Heyes shook his head. "That's real hospitable of you, Jim, but we need to stay away from you and Sarah if we're going to see what we can find out about Emmett Dearborn. Some people, and unfortunately that includes the Sheriff, already know that we are friends of yours so I don't want anyone getting the idea that we might be there to help."

"Yeah, that makes sense." Jim said slowly as he frowned in thought for a moment. Suddenly his eyes brightened as an idea came to him. "I know. There's an old abandoned cabin about five miles outta town. It's hidden from the road by some trees. Nobody will see us if we meet there." 

The partners nodded their agreement then looked meaningfully at each other. Heyes turned to Jim. "There is one thing we haven't discussed yet." 

"And what's that?"

"What's in it for us." 

"Besides that nice warm feelin' we're gonna get for helpin' out a friend," Kid added, smoothly.

"What's in it for you? Apart from me not turning you in, you mean?" Jim quipped before hastily holding up his hands in a conciliatory gesture as his two companions' expressions hardened. "Only joking, boys," he added quickly, instantly regretting his remark. Having put some distance between them and Devil's Hole he had begun to feel more at ease in the infamous outlaws' presence.

Heyes eyed him reproachfully. "I wouldn't joke about things like that, Jim... that kind of talk can get a fella shot." 

Jim shifted uncomfortably for a moment before regaining his composure. "I must admit, I haven't given any thought to money."

"Well, try, Jim. After all, we left Santa Fe empty handed 'cause that fifteen hundred you promised us came from a robbery. So, some kind of legitimate remuneration would be nice this time. We can't have anything to do with stolen money."

"What?" Jim laughed.

Heyes surreptitiously glanced over his shoulders to see how many of the adjacent tables were occupied. Nobody was seated close enough to hear their conversation so he decided it was time to get a few things straight with their friend.

"Look, if me and Thaddeus are going to help you there's something you need to know."

Intrigued, Jim leant forward on the table and, despite Heyes' serious expression, asked glibly, "And what might they be, Joshua?"

Brown eyes narrowed at Jim's tone with his alias. "That's my name Jim, and don't you forget it," Heyes said, evenly. "We've been Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones to everyone outside the Hole for well over a year now and it works fine. Just because you know our real names don't mean you can use them."

Jim shrugged. "Okay."

Heyes then glanced at his partner, receiving a slight nod in reply. "I'm gonna tell you something important because you're a friend and, I guess, under the circumstances we're gonna have to trust you. But you have to swear you won't tell anyone."

Jim held up his right hand like he was swearing on a Bible.

Last night while he lay awake listening to the snoring outlaws that surrounded him Hannibal Heyes had thought long and hard whether to tell Stokely about the amnesty deal. After brokering the deal with the Governor, Sheriff Lom Trevors had stressed that it was a secret and they had abided by this rule, even refusing to tell a Judge the whole story. A few people had got to know about it, however, including Wheat and Kyle but Heyes figured that if they could keep their mouths shut, then so could Jim. He had run through all this with the Kid earlier in the day and they had agreed that he should be told.

"Now," Heyes began, "there are only two or three people who know this. We're trying for an amnesty. The Governor has offered us a deal on the understanding that if we can stay outta trouble for a year, and we have — mostly — then we can do it forever. We're going straight and intend on keeping it that way."

"You're not robbing banks and trains anymore?"

"That's what he just said, ain't it?" stressed Kid.

"So, if you're thinking that me and Thaddeus could help you by robbing a bank or something, then you've got us all wrong."

Jim considered this for a moment. "You said you had 'mostly' stayed outta trouble. Does that mean you backslid a little?" he asked, a faint smile crossing his lips.

Heyes inwardly berated himself for the slip but shrugged indifferently. "Well, I may have opened the odd safe now and then, but that was only when we needed to clear our names. People are real quick to blame us when a bank gets robbed. You wouldn't believe how many times we've been accused of doing something we didn't."

"I'm guessing that means you're still having to look over your shoulders, uh, boys?"

Unconsciously, Kid's right hand slowly drifted to his thigh. "Sure are," he affirmed, forcing a stiff smile. "You'd better not be thinking of settin' us up, Jim, 'cause we're gettin' mighty tired of it."

Jim didn't miss the edge to Kid's voice. "Now, Thaddeus, I'm not thinking anything," he appeased. "I just need Hey — uh, Joshua here to come up with a plan, like he did to prove I didn't kill Hank." He looked at Heyes. "I can't guarantee there won't be a safe to open... but, I can assure you, the idea won't come from me."

"Just make sure it don't." Kid's right hand clasped his beer glass again. 

When the saloon girl returned the three men stopped talking and looked hungrily at the large tray loaded with three frothy beers, three steaming bowls of stew and a plate stacked with biscuits that she set down on the table. Having noted his earlier interest she smiled invitingly at Kid, but as his focus now appeared to be on his supper she just took the money Heyes gave her and left. She would be back. She wasn't giving up on the handsome blue-eyed blond just yet.

Kid speared a piece of something closely resembling meat with his fork, briefly inspected it then placed it in his mouth, chewing tentatively. The other two watched — there was no point in all three of them risking a bad stomach. 

"Huh, beef," Kid confirmed.

"You mean it actually tastes like beef?" asked Heyes, incredulously.

Kid shovelled a loaded forkful into his mouth. "Mmm, 's good." 

Jim and Heyes hastily grabbed a fork each and applied themselves to their supper.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Sleep-heavy brown eyes opened briefly and closed again. When he next opened them, Hannibal Heyes glanced over at his partner's bed and smiled. Kid was there, curled up, asleep — he hadn't slipped out in the middle of the night to meet up with that saloon girl. Heyes had to admit, he admired the girl's persistence. She had done her very best to tempt the Kid last night, everything except physically pulling him up the stairs. However, at the end of the evening all he had done was unwind her arms from around his neck and with a husky "Bye, darlin'", tenderly kissed her cheek before making his way back to the hotel.

Swinging his legs out of bed Heyes stretched and yawned noisily. This didn't wake his partner so he prodded him on the shoulder on his way to the wash-stand. Kid groaned.

"Good to see you waking up in your own bed," remarked Heyes cheerily while pouring some water from the pitcher into the basin.

"No thanks to you," came the mumbled reply.

Heyes spun the lid of the tin of shaving soap. "Wasn't sure if you were going to sneak out on me though."

"Pfftt. I could never do that, Heyes. You're too light a sleeper."

"Well, you have in the past and yes, I am a light sleeper. That's how I know!"

"Not worth it," said Kid through a yawn. "You'd only give me a hard time in the morning. A bit like you're doin' now and I ain't even done anythin'!"

The straight razor caught Heyes' cheek making him wince. He really should try not to laugh while he was shaving.

After a hearty breakfast the three men hit the trail once more. The day was sunny and warm and they soon they reverted to the easy camaraderie they had enjoyed on the trip to Santa Fe.

It appeared that any early snowfall might only be destined for Devil's Hole as the mountain passes were still clear and trouble-free. This meant they were able to cover a lot of ground, only stopping at noon for a brief rest and to water their horses, and finally making camp just as the new moon was rising but while there still remained the pale hint of daylight in the sky.

It took another day and a half to reach their destination. They wove a trail via the abandoned shack that Jim had mentioned and agreed to meet with him there at noon, the day after tomorrow. Hopefully by then Heyes would have been able to find out a little more about Emmett Dearborn.

At the next fork in the road they parted company, Jim taking the trail for the Henderson ranch and Heyes and Curry continuing on to Amity City. A little more than a mile outside of town Kid pulled his horse to an abrupt halt.

"What's the matter?" Heyes asked, not liking the look of concern on his partner's face.

"Heyes, I've just had a horrible thought."

"Now Kid, you know I don't mind you doing a little thinking now and then, but I'm gonna have to stop you if all you can think is something horrible."

Kid shot his cousin a disparaging look before continuing. "We know the Sheriff in this town, right?"

"Yeah, Lindstrom. A real nice fella — for a Sheriff. So?"

"He knows us, and he knows that we know Jim."

Patiently, Heyes tilted his hat backwards and leant on his saddle horn. "Yeah, so what's your point?"

"Well now, how long is it gonna take him to work out it ain't a co-incidence that we're in town when Jim and Mrs Henderson are in a whole mess o' trouble?"

"He might not."

"C'mon Heyes, he's bound to work it out!"

"Okay, okay. But is that so bad?" asked Heyes with a shrug.

"No. Not if we don't have to break in anywhere. But I know you Heyes, I bet you're already hopin' that Dearborn has a safe in his office so you can have a try at crackin' it to see if those deeds are there."

A sly grin stole its way across Heyes' face. "Ah, Kid. You know me so well."

"So, what we gonna do if the Sheriff starts asking questions?"

"We'll just tell him we're just passing through on our way to a job and that we enjoyed our stay so much last time we thought we'd rest up for a few days."

"He won't believe that!" 

"Course he will." Heyes set his hat forward and low over his eyes so that Kid wouldn't recognize the trace of doubt in them. "Stop worrying," he said, giving his reins a flick and setting his horse into a steady lope. 

Little had changed in Amity City since their previous visit. One thing they did notice as they rode down the main street was that the sign R.M. Foster, Attorney at Law was still over the boarded-up door of Bob Foster's office. It appeared there had still been no buyer for the crooked lawyer's business.

Once they had got cleaned up and had something to eat the former outlaws felt in good spirits as they crossed the main street and pushed their way through the batwing doors of the popular O'Sullivan's Saloon. 

Catching the bartender's eye Kid ordered two whiskeys. They had just taken their first mouthful when a hand landed on their shoulders and a voice declared, "I thought I recognized you two!" Both men froze, then Heyes turned gingerly only to see a smiling Sheriff Lindstrom standing behind them.

"How.., howdy, Sheriff," he croaked, having narrowly avoided choking on his whiskey.

"Howdy," echoed Kid with as big a smile as he could muster.

"What are you two fellas doing back in town?" asked the Sheriff, enthusiastically shaking their hands.

Heyes tried a smile of his own. "Oh, just passing through. Gonna stay a short while just to rest up." 

"Nice town, Amity City," enthused Kid.

Brown eyes briefly met blue. "Yeah, real nice," Heyes confirmed, "But we've got a job to go to, Sheriff, so we'll be moving on... soon."

"Real soon."

Heyes' glance at his cousin held a warning as they both took another mouthful of whiskey.

"Well, it sure is good to have you here again. I've not forgotten how you helped me out with the Henderson murder. Dreadful business. We'd have hanged an innocent man if it hadn't been for you two."

Kid smiled. "Anytime."

"Always happy to help, Sheriff," added Heyes.

"You remember now, anything you need you just come right on over to the office and we'll do what we can to help you out." Sheriff Lindstrom took several steps toward the door then stopped and looked back. "I've got me a new Deputy. He's real smart. Got a keen eye too — don't miss much. I know he'd really like to see ya." 

Heyes raised his hand in a friendly wave. "Uh, huh." 

"Oh, I'm sure he would," murmured Kid through a smile as the lawman stepped back out onto the street.

Heyes shuffled his feet and made a futile attempt to ease the tension in his shoulders by leaning on the bar top. He let out a shuddering breath. Although Sheriff Lindstrom's demeanour was in no way threatening, the tin star on his vest never failed to give the boys the shivers. Kid ordered two more whiskeys. Once they were poured, both men downed them in one swallow. 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

The following morning Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry stood in the shadows of an alleyway contemplating a building on the opposite side of the street. The sign above the door read Emmett Dearborn, Surveyor and Locator, US Land Office Practice.

"There it is, Kid."

"I see it. What now?"

"I'll go over and have a talk with Mister Dearborn."

"Want me to come with you?"

Heyes gave his partner a crooked smile. "Uh, uh. You go round the back, check out the windows and doors. We'll meet back at the hotel in say...." He glanced at his pocket watch. "...half an hour. That should be plenty of time to get the information we need. Just be sure nobody sees you."

Kid flashed a grin. "I have done this kinda thing once or twice before," he said. "I'll circle round these buildings and come at it from further down the street. See ya later." Jogging down the alleyway he disappeared around the corner. 

Heyes strode purposefully across the street.

Seated behind a small desk, a middle aged woman with a pair of pince-nez perched on her long, thin nose greeted Heyes a little frostily as he entered the office.

The former outlaw attempted a thaw with one of his warmest smiles. "My name's Edward Hotchkiss, ma'am, and I'd like to speak with Mister Dearborn." 

"On business?" she asked sharply.

"Yes ma'am, on business."

The woman stood and removed her glasses placing them very precisely on the desk. Smoothing the front of her dress she said, "Wait here, please," and made her way to a door on her right.

Heyes casually brushed some dust from the brim of his hat as she tapped lightly on the door before going through to another office. He quickly looked around him. There was no safe out here, in fact there was nothing much except for a bookcase and a large cabinet stacked with what looked like rolled up maps. He hoped Dearborn's office would prove more fruitful.

It was not long before the woman reappeared and held the door open. "As you don't have an appointment, Mister Hotchkiss, Mister Dearborn can only spare you ten minutes," she stated, dismissively.

More than enough time, thought Heyes. "Oh, that will be fine, ma'am, thank you." 

Heyes stepped past her and she shut the door behind him. His eyes darted around the room coming to rest for a fraction of a second on a safe in the corner. Resisting a smile he turned his attention to the man he had come to see.

Emmet Dearborn sat behind a large desk. Heyes estimated the man to be not much older than himself but his appearance was one of a much older businessman. He was quite dapper, dressed in a brown tweed suit and a white shirt with a dark brown tie. The tie was adorned with a fancy gold tie pin set with a yellow stone. His light brown hair was short and parted in the middle while his face sported a set of rather ostentatious side whiskers. 

Busily reading a document he didn't look up until Heyes spoke.

"Good of you to see me, Mister Dearborn."

Dearborn nodded but did not offer his hand for Heyes to shake, instead he gestured to a chair. Heyes sat, dropping his old black hat onto the polished desk and receiving an irritated look from the man seated behind it.

"What can I do for you, Mister Hotchkiss?"

"It's what I may be able to do for you, sir," said Heyes, confidently.

Dearborn raised a supercilious eyebrow. "For me?"

"Yes. You see I have some land I'd like to sell."

"Land? Around here?" 

"That's right."

"There can't be any land for sale around here."

"Oh, what makes you say that?"

Emmet Dearborn smirked. "Because I own most of the land around here, Mister Hotchkiss." 

"I have the deeds. Would you like to see them?" Heyes bluffed.

Ignoring Heyes' question Dearborn asked, "Where exactly is this land."

"It's about five miles north of here. I have three hundred acres bordering a ranch owned by ... uh ... Mister Henderson, I believe. I can show you on a map if that'll help."

"That won't be necessary. Mister Henderson passed on last year and I know for a fact that all the land adjoining the ranch isn't owned by someone called Hotchkiss."

"Well, that can't be," said Heyes, frowning. "The land belonged to my father who, upon his own untimely passing, left it to me. My father paid good money for that land. Is there somewhere I could I see a record of the land sales?"

Irritated, Dearborn nodded. "We do keep ledgers, yes."

"One of those big ol' books you've got on the shelves out there?" Heyes pointed in the direction of the outer office.

"No. The ledgers are stored much more securely than that. You must make an appointment if you wish to view one."

Heyes considered this for a moment. "I may well do that."

"Please speak to my assistant, Mrs Bluit." Dearborn forced a brief, tight smile. "Now, if you will excuse me, Mister Hotchkiss, I am very busy. Good-day."

Emmett Dearborn returned his attention to the documents in front of him and, as Heyes headed for the door, he took the opportunity to glance once more at the safe. 

Upon mentioning to Mrs Bluit that he may need to view the land sales ledger Heyes was informed that there were no immediate appointments available. Having already gleaned all the information he needed for the time being, Heyes tipped his hat to the woman and stepped outside.

Kid was already back in their hotel room when Heyes tapped lightly three times on the door before letting himself in.

"You see Dearborn?"

Heyes scowled. "Yeah, I saw him. He sure thinks a lot of himself, him and that high-falutin' assistant of his."

"You get a look at the safe?" 

At the mention of the safe, Heyes brightened. "Sure did. It's a Zelinski. That's one of the easiest to open. Only a three number combination. Pity really, I was hoping for a bit more of a challenge. How about the back door?"

"Standard lock. So, provided he don't have a bolt on the inside we should be able to get in, no problem."

"Good, we'll take a look tonight." Heyes rubbed his hands together with barely suppressed glee.

"You know, Heyes, for someone who's supposed to be reformed you sure get excited at the thought of gettin' your hands on a safe."

"I am reformed!" 

"Pfftt."

"I am, Kid. It's just that...well...it's nice to do something you enjoy, once in a while."

With an air of scepticism Kid shook his head. He then tugged off his boots and lay down on the bed.

"What are you doing?" asked Heyes.

"I'm doin' somethin' I enjoy. I'm takin' a nap." He shrugged at the slightly perplexed look on his cousin's face. "Well, if we're gonna be up half the night..."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

It was a little after three in the morning and two barely discernible figures made their way silently through the shadows of the back street.

Flattening themselves against the rough wall of their target the first figure delved into his coat pocket and pulled out a small canvas roll. Handing it to his partner to hold, he selected two small implements. Then, crouching down by a door he proceeded to insert the implements into the lock. A few seconds later there was a click and he tried the handle. It moved easily. 

Once both men were inside the pitch black interior Hannibal Heyes deftly relocked the door then struck a match. They were in an empty storeroom. He pulled a candle stub from his pocket and lit the blackened wick. Kid Curry inclined his head to the inner door in front of them and listened. He drew his gun and gently turned the handle. 

Holding the candle aloft Heyes followed his partner into Emmett Dearborn's office. He pointed to the safe in the corner and moved towards it while Kid opened the door to the front office an inch or two, checked that the room was empty, then closed it again. His gun still in his hand he continued to listen at the door as Heyes settled himself cross-legged on the floor by the safe and pulled off his gloves.

Taking hold of the metal dial with his left hand he pressed his right ear next to it. A quick glance at his partner told him the coast was still clear so he slowly began to turn the dial back and forth listening for the familiar sound of the tumblers falling into place. Less than five minutes later and with a satisfied grin lighting up his face, Heyes pushed the lever forward and the door opened.

"Nice to see you ain't lost your touch, Heyes," whispered Kid with a smile.

"Just you keep on listening," urged his partner. "We don't know when the Sheriff does his rounds."

Kid angled his head toward the door again.

Heyes reached into the small vault and pulled out a bundle of papers. He quickly sorted through them but was disappointed to find that the majority were bills and receipts, none of which had anything to do with the Henderson ranch. There was no sign of any deeds. He replaced the papers and took out a ledger. Flicking through the pages his quick eyes skimmed over the entries; most of them appeared to be for surveying services. 

"Any luck?" asked his partner.

"Nah, nothing here. He must keep all the important stuff somewhere else. That means—." 

Kid Curry's hand shot up in the air to silence his partner. 

Half a minute later Kid let out the breath he was holding and said, "It's alright. Thought I heard somethin'." 

"Make sure it is 'something' before you do that again, will you," complained Heyes, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

"If you'd rather I didn't listen, I can always ..." Kid received a dismissive wave as Heyes went back to leafing through the ledger. Rubbing the back of his neck he said, "Jeez, Heyes, I'd forgotten how doin' this makes me feel."

"I know. It's not the same as a bank but it's still kinda exciting." Heyes looked up, his eyes shining in the candlelight.

The blond curls shook. "Excitin'?! Maybe for you, but it sure don't feel that way to me anymore." 

Heyes closed the ledger and sighed. "Well, exciting or not, there's nothing here." Making sure all the contents were put back exactly as he had found them, he closed the safe door.

Signalling to the Kid to stay where he was, he got to his feet and sidled around to the other side of Dearborn's large desk. The desk had nine drawers altogether, three of equal size down each side and three narrower ones across the top. Somewhat surprised that they were all unlocked, Heyes systematically worked his way around, checking the contents of each one. 

While rifling through one of the smaller drawers, which contained mainly pens and pencils and a collection of ornately printed business cards, his eyes were drawn to a name he recognized and so he tucked the card into his pocket.

"Okay, Kid, let's go." 

Back in their hotel room Heyes studied the card by the dim light from the lamp on his nightstand.

The card read: Myles Murdock. Expert Lithographer, Printer & Copyist. Monograms Designed & Engraved.

"What's that you're lookin' at?" asked Kid as he peered over his cousin's shoulder.

"It's a card I took out of Dearborn's drawer. Anything strike you as familiar?" Heyes held up the card.

Kid was about to shake his head but, instead, his blue eyes widened in astonishment. "It can't be, can it?!"

Heyes turned to face him. "It could. In fact, I think it probably is."

"Our old friend, Nibs, here in Amity City? I always wondered what happened to him after Soapy ran him outta San Francisco all those years ago for messin' up those calling cards."

Heyes gave a throaty chuckle. "Yeah, Soapy didn't take too kindly to being called Sappy Saunders."

"Do you think he's gone straight, like us?"

"I've got a hunch that he hasn't, Kid. And, he's just the sort of person you'd employ if you wanted a false ledger making up, or land deeds forged."

Kid Curry sank down on the edge of Heyes' bed and shook his head. "Nibs Murdock. Sheesh!" Suddenly his shoulders sagged. "Aaww, no!"

"What? Don't tell me you got one of those horrible thoughts, again."

"Heyes, that nimble brain of yours must be slowin' down. If Nibs sees us...he'll know our names ain't Smith and Jones."

"Of course I thought of that!" Heyes said, irritably. "We'll just have to make sure we see him first. He can't have an office in town otherwise we'd have spotted it, so he must work from his house, or maybe even Dearborn's ranch."

While Kid settled down to get another hour or two of sleep before breakfast, Heyes sat in the chair next to the window and stared onto the empty street below. It was bad enough having Jim know who they really are, now they had to worry about Myles Murdock too. Dawn was still a little way off but he knew that he wouldn't sleep any more tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

It was another fine fall day and the sun had almost reached its zenith by the time Heyes and Curry arrived at the derelict cabin. Now very much on their guard in case they ran into Murdock, they had been careful to ride out of town in opposite directions, Kid circling around the town to the west and meeting up with Heyes again on the road heading north. 

They approached the cabin cautiously but soon caught sight of Jim's horse in a stand of trees off to one side. Dismounting they led their horses over to join it, tethering them in the shade.

Jim Stokely leaned casually on the grey weathered wood of the porch railings, smoking a cheroot. He greeted them cheerfully before accompanying them inside. 

The cabin looked like a hundred others they had been in before. It smelled musty through lack of use and was sparsely furnished with a small living space on one side and a rusting metal bedstead defining the sleeping area on the other. Tattered remnants of cloth hung at the single window which, along with the open door and several large gaps between the wooden planks of the walls, were the only sources of daylight. 

Seating themselves at an old grimy table, both Heyes and Curry hastily grasped the table top as the rickety bench they had chosen rocked precariously. 

"So, how have you been getting on? Have you been to see Dearborn yet?" Jim asked, having made sure to sit on the only sturdy-looking chair.

"Yeah, we got acquainted," Heyes' lip curled in contempt.

"Joshua here also became acquainted with the contents of his safe," added Kid, dryly.

Heyes went on to brief Jim on his meeting with Emmett Dearborn and their late-night venture into his office. Jim's face fell at the news that there was nothing of interest in the safe.

"I figure he must have all the important documents in another safe, probably at his house," Heyes added.

Kid Curry regarded his cousin with a look of forbearance. He had spent most of the morning's ride trying to talk Heyes out of putting their amnesty in jeopardy by breaking into Dearborn's house and cracking yet another safe, but knew that his words had fallen on deaf ears. Despite all his good intentions to go straight, he doubted whether Hannibal Heyes would ever be able to resist the temptation to crack a safe.

"It won't be easy getting into the ranch house, boys," stated Jim.

Both men looked questioningly at their friend. "Oh, how come?" asked Heyes.

"He has a lot of men out there and, from what I've heard, the place is guarded like a fortress."

Heyes smiled, cheekily. "At least it shows he must have something worth guarding."

Kid took the opportunity to try once more to dissuade his cousin. "He might have somethin' worth guarding, Joshua, but is it worth the risk? I sure don't like the idea of endin' up in one of Sheriff Lindstrom's jail cells, or gettin' worked over by a bunch of hard-headed flunkies like we did after takin' that bust of Caesar from Armendariz.

Heyes drummed his fingers on the table as he considered this. "Hmm. What we really need is someone on the inside." 

Kid frowned — Heyes was determined not to listen. "And how exactly are we gonna do that?" 

"We're not, Thaddeus — you are." 

Blue eyes widened. "Me?!"

"Yep, you. If he's got a lot of men guarding the place he must feel nervous about something, so who better to reassure him than the fastest gun he's ever gonna see. What do you think, Jim? Will Dearborn be interested in another hired gun?"

"I reckon he might, especially one as good as Thaddeus." 

Kid's wide eyes narrowed. "I never hire out my gun," he reminded his partner through clenched teeth.

Heyes playfully punched Kid's shoulder. "Aaww, c'mon now it won't be for long. Anyway, I'd be real surprised if you even have to draw your gun, let alone shoot anyone."

"That's reassurin'," grumbled Kid. "What happed to not drawin' attention to ourselves, uh? You know my fast draw can attract a lot of attention. You gripe about it every time I step up to a poker table and save your sorry hide with it."

It was Heyes' turn to fix his cousin with a disgruntled look.

Kid continued. "How exactly do you propose I get a job there? You want I should just ride in through the gate and offer my services?"

"No, course not," replied Heyes. "Look, tomorrow is Saturday. I figure most of the hired hands hereabouts will come into town Saturday night. Do you know who Dearborn's foreman is, Jim?"

"That'd be Milton Lang. I've seen him drinking in O'Sullivan's." Jim grinned. "Just look out for a big fella, 'bout forty with a head full of red hair and a moustache like a fox's tail." 

"There you go! It'll be a piece of cake," Heyes said, slapping his partner on the back and making the rickety bench wobble again. "All you'll have to do is talk to some of the hands, say you're looking for work, and get one of them to introduce you. If he don't want to take you on then you'll just have to come up with something a little more exciting to change his mind."

Not liking the sound of 'something a little more exciting', Curry sighed wearily. "Okay. Say he hires me, what then?"

"You do some poking around. Find out how many guards they have on at night and where Dearborn's safe is; you know the sorta thing. Then, all you've gotta do is work out the best way to get me inside so I can open it."

"That's all, huh?"

"That's all... but we do need to get it done real quick. We've only got a week before the Judge turns up." Heyes gave his cousin an encouraging smile, only to receive an icy glare in return.

"What if Dearborn's seen me around town with that fella Hotchkiss who tried to sell him some land? You thought of that? Or, he might remember seeing me last time we was here. He sure won't employ the man who helped prove his brother was a murderer!"

Heyes winced. His partner had a point, but they had to try. "I know we're taking a big risk, Kid, but I don't have a better idea right now."

"Looks to me like there's only one of us gonna be takin' any risks," Kid fired back at his partner.

Ignoring the obvious tension between the two men Jim stood up. "Well, now that's all settled, I'd better be getting back."

"Hold on a minute, Jim." Heyes reached into his shirt pocket. "Have you ever heard of Myles Murdock?" He held out Nibs' business card.

"Murdock....hmm." Jim frowned as he read the card, then snapped his fingers. "He's Iris Bluit's brother."

"Bluit? As in Dearborn's assistant?"

"That's right, Murdock was her name before she married."

"You sure?" asked Heyes.

"Yes. I remember Sarah telling me all about Iris. Do you know Murdock?"

"We know him alright," replied Kid. "Worked with him for a spell over in San Francisco when we was shillin' for a flimflam man."

Jim's eyes widened. "You ran cons? Now, that takes a heck of a lot more skill and imagination than holding up a train." He shook his head and chuckled. "You sure are full of surprises! And there was me thinking you two were nothing but ordinary thieves."

Hackles rose at the slight. One thing Hannibal Heyes had never done and that was consider himself as 'ordinary' and he made a mental note to enlighten Jim on the complexities of planning a successful bank or train heist.

"We want to pay him a visit. Any idea where we can find him?" asked Kid.

"He's not in Amity City any more. Iris took him in for a while but, I think he went over to Boldford, 'bout ten miles south east of here."

"You sure about that?" 

"Pretty sure. Why?"

"Well, you think about it." Heyes said, his voice taking on an unmistakable edge as a result of Jim's disparaging remarks. "We know him, but we don't want him telling everyone in Amity City that he knows who we are. Until we get that amnesty there's still a big price on each of our heads plus a twenty year prison sentence. We may be 'nothing but thieves' as you put it, Jim, but we are thieves who want to stay out of jail."

Standing abruptly he pulled his hat low over his eyes. "C'mon, Kid."

Striding over to his horse, Heyes mounted up and set off at a steady lope back down the narrow trail leaving his cousin to quickly scramble back into his saddle and follow on behind.

Now that it was well past noon and therefore a while since breakfast, Kid's stomach was beginning to growl. He was looking forward to sampling one of the steak sandwiches advertised in the window of the cafe across the street from the hotel, followed by a nice cool beer in O'Sullivan's. 

After about ten minutes the trail began to widen and as Kid brought his horse level with Heyes' he glanced over at him. Recognizing a familiar set to his cousin's jaw his shoulders slumped. 

"Aaww no, we're ridin' over to Boldford right now, ain't we?"

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Boldford was very much a one-horse town, and at this very moment even that particular horse was missing. As far as they could see there was one saloon, a small mercantile, a grain and feed store, a blacksmith and saddlery, and that was pretty much it. A few houses filled in the gaps along the main street but there was no sign of Myles Murdock's print shop. There was no sign of anyone.

Heyes and Curry pulled their horses to a halt outside the largest building of all, the saloon, and slid from their saddles.

"Don't look like we've much chance of findin' Nibs in this town, there's nobody here," grumbled Kid as he tethered his gelding beside Heyes' mare. Both animals dipped their noses into the water trough.

"We'll ask in the saloon — someone in there will know where we can find him. Bartenders know everything that goes on," said Heyes. "And we can get ourselves a beer."

"Yeah... and a sandwich, or two." Catching Heyes' expression of disbelief Kid added, "I'm hungry!"

The men strode through the open door of the saloon. Their eyes struggled to adjust from the bright sunshine outside to the dim interior but, at first glance the place appeared to be empty. However, as they bellied up to the bar a voice came from out of nowhere.

"Well, bless my soul, look who it is!"

The partners quickly glanced at one another. Recognizing the voice Kid smirked, "Don't look like we hafta ask the bartender after all." 

They turned as one to see a short stocky man with a round face edged with a neatly trimmed beard sitting at one of the tables near the window. His trousers, open neck shirt and dark waistcoat had all seen better days but his black bowler hat was new. A small pair of spectacles were perched on his snub nose and he currently had a grin stretched from ear to ear.

"Howdy, Nibs," said Heyes warmly as Myles Murdock put down his newspaper and hurried across the room to seize their hands and shake them vigorously.

"What the Sam Hill are you two doing this far from Devi—?"

"Shhh. Keep it down," murmured Kid, his eyes flickering cautiously around the room.

"Aww, there ain't anyone around, Kid. Harvey — he's the owner — he's gone out to the Finster's farmstead to pick up a few supplies. Left the place in my capable hands, so what can I get you? Couple of beers?" Murdock stepped smartly behind the bar.

Heyes smiled. "That'd be great." 

"Got anythin' to eat?" Kid was not planning on ignoring his growling stomach.

Murdock laughed over his shoulder as he drew two beers from a barrel set on a rack against the wall. "You were always hungry as a young'n, Kid. See you haven't changed none."

"Yep, his stomach is still a bottomless pit," remarked Heyes, acidly before adding, "But, one thing we have changed is our names. I'm Joshua Smith and the Kid is Thaddeus Jones. Oh... and, we're not working outta Devil's Hole any more. We're going straight."

Stunned, Murdock placed the two mugs of beers on the bar with a thump, sending foam slopping over the rims. "Going straight? You two? Really?!"

Kid Curry picked up one of the dripping mugs. "Yeah, we've been outta the outlawin' business for over a year now." He took a long swallow.

"That's right." Heyes regarded the man's wide-eyed expression with some amusement.

"So, do you have any food, or not?" Kid persisted.

"Harvey may have something out back. I'll go look." Murdock disappeared into a back room while the two ex-outlaws concentrated on their beers. He reappeared several minutes later with some roughly cut slices of bread and pieces of beef.

"Here," he said thrusting the plate toward Kid. "That's all I could find. Don't blame me if the bread's stale."

Immediately Kid grabbed a slice of bread, placed a piece of beef on it and folded it in half, thereby making the sandwich he had craved. Heyes couldn't help but watch his partner chew enthusiastically for a moment before making his own sandwich.

While the two men ate Murdock poured himself a large whiskey and sipped it thoughtfully, reflecting on the coincidence of them turning up in a little backwoods town like Boldford.

Eventually he posed a question. "So, what are you two doing all the way out here?" 

"Helping a friend," stated Curry between bites. "What about you, Nibs? Can't be much call for your kinda work around here."

"Oh, you'd be surprised how much business there is, even in these parts."

Heyes fixed him with a steady gaze. "Actually, we wouldn't be surprised at all. You're working for Emmett Dearborn, aren't you?"

Nibs Murdock was never very good at disguising his emotions and he nervously placed his bowler hat on the bar revealing a shiny, round, bald head. Helping himself to another drink he downed it in a single gulp. "What if I am? It's no business of yours."

"Normally, it wouldn't be, except that your employer is trying to steal some land from a friend of ours."

"Mister Dearborn has brought me a lot of business. I've done some calling cards for him as well as business stationery for his office. He pays well."

Heyes smirked. "I expect he pays a lot more for the extra work. You have been doing your own special kinda work too, haven't you?"

Murdock ran an ink-stained finger around the rim of his whiskey glass. "Well... Mister Dearborn might have asked me to make up some documents." His eyes darted nervously from one ex-outlaw to the other. "It's all legal and above board. Honest!"

Kid Curry couldn't help but laugh at Murdock's feeble attempt at a show of innocence. "Legal and above board?"

"Well..."

"These documents, were they deeds of land ownership for Hank Henderson? Maybe you replaced Henderson's details with Dearborn's?" pressed Heyes.

Murdock hesitated, then came the reluctant admission that Heyes was waiting for. "Could be."

Heyes huffed. "I knew it. How long would it take you to make up some more deeds, put everything back the way it was?"

"Oh, a while, Heyes, that's if you want them to look authentic."

"Longer than a week?"

Murdock nodded. "It took me two weeks to make up the ones Dearborn wanted."

"Two weeks!" The partners exchanged an incredulous look.

"It's a complicated process. You see, first you've gotta get the right sort of paper. If you can't get it then you have to make it yourself. Then you have to age the paper right, make it look authentic, and not like you just spilled a cup of coffee over it. That's where amateurs come unstuck," Murdock added, frowning at the thought before continuing enthusiastically. "Then you've gotta get the right shade of ink so it looks all faded on the outside of the document but clear where it's not been exposed to the light. I tell ya — it's a real art, boys."

Heyes drained his beer glass and placed it back on the bar with a thud. "We don't have two weeks. Judge Elkins will be hearing the case real soon." 

"Then I guess I can't help you."

A deep frown creased Hannibal Heyes' brow and he began pacing back and forth.

"Now look whatcha done," Kid griped at Murdock. "We could be here for the rest of the day while he works somethin' up." He sighed. "Gimme another beer, will ya."

While his cousin continued to pace, Kid slowly drank his refill. Figuring Heyes was not about to stop any time soon he dragged himself over to one of the poker tables where he picked up a pack of cards and proceeded to lay out a game of Patience. Nibs Murdock carefully placed his black bowler hat back on his head and went back to reading his newspaper.

After about an hour the absence of footfalls on the bare floorboards made the Kid look up, only to see the self-proclaimed genius scratching his head and frowning.

"It's no good. I can't think of a way round it!"

"In that case, maybe we should tell Jim we can't help him and head on back to Clearlake," said Kid, hopefully.

Heyes' brow unknotted slightly. "No...I could still take the deeds that Dearborn has. It would hold up the hearing for a month or two until the next time the Judge is here. That'll be more than enough time for Nibs to put Henderson's name on another set of deeds." 

Kid Curry's face fell.

"Hey, Nibs!" Heyes called across the room. "These documents, are they sealed up in an envelope or something?"

Murdock absently looked up from his newspaper. "Hmm?"

"These deeds, what do they look like?"

"The original ones or the fake ones?" asked Murdock, still a little distracted by the article he had been reading.

Heyes rolled his eyes. "Don't guess it matters seeing as you made them look the same!"

"If you want, I can show you the original ones," Nibs offered casually, his eyes drifting back to his newspaper. 

"The original ones?"

"Yeah, you know, the ones with Hank Henderson's name on them — they're back at my house. Didn't think it was my place to destroy them, but I forgot to return them to Mister Dearborn when I delivered the fake ones. I was gonna take them over to him tomorrow, as a matter of fact."

Heyes found himself momentarily lost for words.

"And you didn't think to tell us this right at the start?" Kid growled.

Having noticed his partner's trigger finger begin to twitch, Heyes placed a conciliatory hand on Kid's arm. "Easy now." Then, taking a steadying breath he turned to Murdock and forced a smile. "That would be a great help, Nibs, thank you. You live close by?"

"Yes, just on the edge of town. It's only a short walk from here."

"Won't feel so short with a bullet in your foot," muttered the wearer of a floppy brown hat as he strode out into the street.


	6. Chapter 6

Saturday evening soon arrived. From late afternoon Amity City had begun to see an increase in horse traffic as men from the surrounding area descended on the town, and the three saloons began to fill with rowdy ranch hands hell-bent on spending the greater part of their hard-earned cash on poker, women, and hard liquor.

O'Sullivan's was by far the most popular of the town's drinking establishments. By the time Heyes and Curry stepped inside the place was heaving, the air already heavy with cheap cigar smoke mixing with the unmistakeable odours of sweat and whiskey. A tinny-sounding tune emanated from the player piano in the corner but it could barely be heard above the raised voices and raucous laughter of the crowd.

The two former outlaws squeezed their way into a space at the bar and while Kid attempted to get the bartender's attention Heyes surveyed the clientele for the man they sought. It didn't take long before he spotted Milton Lang; Jim was right, he did stand out in a crowd. 

Inevitably, the dark brown eyes were then drawn to the poker tables. Craning his neck he could only see one vacant seat but it was ideal as his back would be against the wall. This meant that when Kid was talking with Lang Heyes could still keep watch for trouble. Eager not to miss out he tapped Kid on the arm and pointed to the table before easing his way through the throng.

Once he had paid for their drinks Kid joined his partner. He placed a whiskey alongside Heyes modest stake while he leant on the wall behind him sipping from his own glass. After watching his partner play a few hands it became obvious to Kid that a couple of the other players in the game were quite skilled and he guessed that tonight, unless Heyes was really lucky, the run of play wouldn't all be going his way. Feeling confident that his partner didn't need him to watch his back and, as he had also spotted Lang as he crossed the room, Kid bent forward and murmured that he would be back shortly. Heyes, who was in the process of raking in a generous pile of coins and paper money glanced up and nodded, the gleam in his eyes a clear indication that he was enjoying himself. 

Surrounded by several men from Dearborn's spread Milton Lang held forth in loud sonorous tones. As Kid approached he could hear he was in full flow on the benefits of breeding cows to a Brahma bull, explaining how the resulting calves would live much longer than regular cattle and consequently produce more calves of their own. 

Kid got as close to the man's table as he could and tapped one of the men on the shoulder.

"Howdy," he said affably as the man turned. "You from the Dearborn ranch?"

"Yeah. What's it to you?"

"Lookin' for work, that's all. Was told you might be hiring."

"I dunno anythin' about that. You'd have to ask the foreman. He's sittin' over there," the cowhand flipped his thumb in Lang's direction and turned his back on Kid.

Kid Curry tapped his shoulder again. "My name's Thaddeus Jones. Wouldn't care to introduce me would ya?" he asked.

The ranch hand frowned. "Fella, I don't know you from 'Adam' so no, I ain't gonna introduce ya. Besides, Mister Lang don't take too kindly to bein' interrupted when he's speakin'." He turned away again.

Kid sighed to himself. Clearly this man wasn't going to co-operate. He figured he couldn't just push his way around the table to Lang in this crowd without starting a brawl and, from what this man had just told him, interrupting the foreman probably wouldn't get him a job anyhow. Maybe it was time to come up with that 'something a little more exciting' that Heyes had suggested.

Quickly checking the patrons in the immediate vicinity for any sign of a silver star Kid turned so as to ensure that his right hand and holster could be seen from across the table. Readying himself he tapped the cowhand on the shoulder for what he knew would be the final time.

Clearly annoyed, the man spat. "You again?!" 

"How's about I buy you a drink first?" suggested Kid. "Then maybe you'll introduce me?" 

"Look, fella, get lost! I don't want no drink from you!" The man's raised voice didn't attract any attention in the noisy saloon.

"I just thought maybe—"

"Leave me alone, will ya!" 

He was about to turn his back again when Kid touched his arm. The man spun around drawing his fist back at the same time only to stop mid-punch and stare at the shiny Colt .45 that had appeared from out of nowhere into Kid Curry's hand. Kid was careful to keep the gun low and tight to his body so that it would hopefully only be seen by the group at the table who had by now all fallen silent. The Colt was hastily returned to its holster.

Drawing his gun had, as usual, turned Kid's eyes to ice but he blinked the look away and smiling thinly said, "Sorry about that, friend. I guess I'm just used to letting my gun do my talkin'. Let me get you that drink."

A booming voice cut across the cowhand's reply. "No need. He can have one from my bottle, and so can you." 

Milton Lang pushed his half full whiskey bottle into the middle of the table.

"Thanks. Don't mind if I do." Kid picked up the bottle and looked questioningly at the cowhand who held out his glass with a slightly trembling hand. Pouring them both a full shot he placed the bottle back on the table before raising his glass toward Lang, in salute.

"You're mighty fast with that pistol, fella. I ain't seen anyone draw that fast since I worked down in New Mexico with a young lad by the name of William Bonney**. Damn that kid was fast!" Lang shook his head at the recollection. "How accurate are you?"

"I usually hit what I aim at," answered Kid, off-handedly.

"Whatcha doin' here in Amity City?"

"Well, I was tellin' this here fella —"

All of a sudden the stunned cowhand found his voice. "I was about to bring him over and introduce him to ya, Mister Lang," he blurted out. Curry sucked in his cheeks and gave him a cold sideways glance. "His name's Jones and he's lookin' for work."

"Is that so? Well, Mister Jones, we're always lookin' for good men and if you are lookin' for a job, there could be one for you out on Mister Dearborn's spread. Why don't you ride on over tomorrow and we can talk about it some more."

"That's right friendly of you Mister Lang. I'll do that."

Milton Lang grinned but it was barely visible through his bushy red moustache. 

Politely tipping his hat with a forefinger the blond gunman turned away and made his way back toward the poker table.

Amid the hubbub Kid could easily identify Heyes laugh and as he stepped through the crowd a rare sight met his eyes. Heyes was leaning back in his chair grinning like a Cheshire cat, a large cigar in his hand and a pretty redhead on his lap. Kid hadn't seen him do that since their early Devil's Hole days when nights were often spent hurrahing some unsuspecting town after a robbery.

"Hi, Thaddeus! You having a good time?" 

"Not quite as good as you, by the looks of it," Kid remarked, wryly.

Laughing, Heyes stood thereby dislodging the saloon girl who he gently guided into Kid Curry's arms. He ignored the questioning glance from his cousin. 

"There ya go, Ruby! I know you'll have a lot more fun with my friend than with me," chirped Heyes. Ruby pouted over her shoulder at him. She had been looking forward to spending some time with the engaging dark-eyed stranger.

Turning his back on the table with the pretext of straightening his chair he whispered, "So?"

"Think I'm in."

"Good. Sorry she's not a blonde." Heyes casually resumed his seat.

Kid briefly closed his eyes and shook his head before smiling at the girl in his arms. "Evenin', Ruby." Soft green eyes gazed up at him and she seductively returned his smile. Then, without a word, Ruby slipped her hand in his and led him away through the crowd.

Heyes opened a new deck of cards. "Right, gentlemen! How about a little five card stud?"

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

The absence of slow, steady breathing gave the room an unnatural silence and made the sharp rattle of steel on the china basin sound harsher than it really was. 

Freshly washed and shaved, Hannibal Heyes removed the remains of the shaving soap from his face with the thin hotel towel before picking the razor out of the water, wiping it clean and placing it on the dresser. His eyes strayed to the undisturbed bed next to his.

Reacting to the sound of footsteps in the hallway followed by three soft taps on the door, Heyes swung the door open and walked away. He didn't need to look to see who it was; he knew it would be the Kid, gun belt slung over one shoulder, blond curls dishevelled, and his haphazardly-buttoned shirt hanging loose.

Heyes began buttoning his own shirt. "Good morning!" he said, his voice a little louder than was necessary as the younger man heeled the door shut and dragged his feet wearily across the room.

Kid mumbled, "Mornin'", placed his gun belt on the nightstand and flopped face down on his bed. 

"I take it you had a good night."

"I need to sleep," Kid groaned. "That Ruby...sheesh! She was quite a—"

"Gonna go get me some breakfast," interrupted Heyes quickly before his cousin could go into detail. 

"Wake me in a couple a hours, will ya, Heyes? I've gotta go meet with Lang." 

Heyes gave a half smile. "Sure," he said, quietly closing the door behind him.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Kid Curry led his horse out of the livery stable, checked his cinch then slowly swung himself into the saddle and spurred the gelding into a steady lope. 

It was well after noon. He had slept longer than he had intended, Heyes not having woken him until about half an hour ago. But, he had to admit, his partner had made up for it by bringing him a sandwich from the cafe and making sure his canteen was full for the ride today, not to mention packing his saddlebags for him. Most of the time Kid complained if Heyes fussed over him but there were times when his ministrations came in useful. 

They had agreed that if Kid was given a job it would be better if he didn't come back into town and further risk the chance of Dearborn seeing the two of them together. Instead they would meet at the old cabin the day after tomorrow. 

Kid pulled his horse to a halt the moment he rounded a bend and caught sight of the entrance to the ranch. He adjusted his hat while he studied the high wall and elaborate wrought iron gates which reminded him of the perimeter surrounding the Armendariz ranch house. He had no good memories of that place. With a sigh he urged his horse back into a trot. 

Protruding through the ironwork the twin barrels of two shotguns greeted him as he approached the gates.

"Hold it! What's your business here?"

Kid didn't raise his hands but still kept them where the owners of the shotguns could see them. "I'm here to see Mister Lang about a job. My name's Thaddeus Jones. He knows I'm comin'."

"Wait here." One man, wearing an old Civil War slouch hat, trotted off toward the outbuildings.

After a short wait he returned. "Get off your horse. Undo your gun belt and pass it through the railings," he demanded. 

"Huh?" 

"You heard me. No strangers allowed on the property totin' a gun. Mister Dearborn's very partic'lar about that so ya gotta hand that Black-eyed Susan a yours over to us or we don't open the gate." He peered through the bars. "You got a rifle?"

"Sheesh." 

Kid Curry kept his eyes firmly trained on the man as he dismounted, undid his gun belt and, with gritted teeth, passed it through the gate as instructed. "I ain't got a rifle," he confirmed, wondering whether Dearborn was just paranoid or had something extremely valuable to protect.

"Open the gate, Clyde," slouch hat instructed.

Kid led his horse through the open gate and handed the reins to Clyde.

"Stand still and hold your arms out."

"What now?" Kid asked, irritably.

"I just gotta make sure y' ain't got any weapons concealed on ya."

Kid could feel his temper rising but he did as he was bid and was quickly patted down. "Are you done?" he asked, his eyes steely.

Expressionless, slouch hat turned on his heel. "This way."

Kid strode after the man who opened the door to an outbuilding, jerking his head to indicate Kid should enter. He glanced about him, swiftly taking in the small room which was unusually comfortable, even for a ranch foreman.

Milton Lang sat in one of two leather armchairs set either side of a small pot-bellied stove. As Kid walked in he stood and held out a hand in greeting. Unsmiling, Kid shook it.

"Good to see you, Mister Jones."

"Real friendly welcome you give folks here," Kid said, sarcastically.

"Yes, well...it is a bit extreme, but that's what the boss wants so that's what the boss gets," said Lang returning to his seat and indicating Kid should sit in the other armchair. 

"I was mighty impressed with the way you handled that gun of yours last night. Who taught you to do that?" asked Lang.

Kid shrugged. "Nobody. Just practice a lot."

"You need to use a draw like that much?"

"It mighta come in handy once or twice."

Milton Lang stroked his bushy moustache thoughtfully. "Is your name really Jones?"

"What's that gotta do with anythin'?"

"Oh, it's just that I've come across a few gunfighters in my time but none going by the name of Jones."

"Let's get one thing straight, Mister Lang," said Kid, his voice suddenly hard. "I ain't a gunfighter. Now, have you gotta job for me, or not, 'cause if you ain't I'll just be ridin' out." Kid made to rise only to stop as Milton Lang let out a loud guffaw.

"Now that's what I like to see. A man who's single-minded. Yeah, I've got a job for ya. It'll mean working at night though."

Kid leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. Naturally suspicious, his eyes narrowed slightly. "At night? Doin' what?"

"Mister Dearborn has a very important meeting coming up and he wants someone in his study guarding his safe around the clock. I have men who are suitable for the daytime watches but working at night needs somethin' that little bit extra and I figure you'll fit the bill nicely, Mister Jones."

Kid's poker face didn't waver but inwardly he grinned. Dearborn's study was exactly where he wanted to be.

"When do you want me to start?"

"Tonight. The pay is one hundred dollars for this week and then forty dollars a month if we decide to keep you on for regular work after that. How does that sound?"

"The forty dollars a month sounds real good, Mister Lang but, only one hundred for the night work...guardin' something important...well, that sounds a little short to me."

Lang considered the blond gunman for a moment then he stood and walked toward the door. "Let's go." He grabbed his hat off a hook and slapped it on his head.

"Where to?" Kid was wary.

"We'll ride over to where the boys do their shootin' practice and put you to the test. See how good you really are."

"I get to use my own gun, right?"

"Sorry. You don't get your gun back until Mister Dearborn has approved you. You'll have to make do with mine."

Kid sighed. "Whatever you say."

The practice ground was a considerable distance from the main house. As they rode, Milton Lang explained that this was in order to keep the sound of gunfire out of Mrs Dearborn's hearing. 

On the property, guns were necessary to make her feel safe but were only to be used in extreme circumstances because if one was fired she would, in all likelihood, fall into a dead faint and would stay upstairs in her bedroom for days afterwards. It had all started the day she was travelling from Denver back to Amity City. A band of outlaws stopped the train and she, together with the other terrified passengers, had been threatened and held at gunpoint while the safe was blown open with dynamite. 

The doctor had been quick to pronounce a diagnosis of hysteria as a result of the shock. Well, that explains all the security, thought Kid, hoping that the Devil's Hole Gang had not been responsible for the poor woman's malaise.

While Kid tethered the horses under some nearby trees Lang chose six targets of various shapes and sizes from a heap of old cans and bottles and placed them on a piece of fence that had been erected in front of a bank of dirt. He then handed his pistol to Kid. It was a top-break Schofield, like the one Heyes favoured, but a more recent model. Kid checked that it was loaded and twirled it back and forth a couple of times to test its balance and how it felt in his hand. He checked the sights and when he was satisfied he turned to face the line of targets. 

"All six?"

Milton Lang had barely finished nodding his head before Kid had fired off six rounds hitting each target dead centre and sending them flying into the air in quick succession.

"Satisfied?" he asked, cracking the gun open and ejecting the spent bullet casings.

Lang grinned at him. "Just a minute," he said before walking back to the target rail.

Kid watched him take something from his jacket pocket and propped it up it on the rail, but it wasn't until Lang had felt along his gun belt and held up a single bullet that Kid took a closer look. It was a playing card. Sighing to himself he loaded the bullet into the gun.

"You want me to hit a particular spot?"

"Anywhere will do, son."

Kid fired and the card fluttered to the ground. He handed the man his gun and they both walked over to the rail. Milton Lang's jaw dropped open as he picked up the card. It had been the three of diamonds normally shown by a vertical row of three small diamonds up the centre of the card but now, only two diamonds were visible. The centre diamond was missing, having been replaced by a bullet hole. 

Kid Curry winced slightly. In his head he could hear Heyes berating him for having been so accurate. "Not right in the middle! Why couldn't ya just hit it a little to the left? Dammit, Kid, you can be such a show off!" The truth was he wasn't showing off — it was what he did. 

Milton Lang whistled softly. "That's mighty fine shootin'. I think it's time I introduced you to Mister Dearborn. He needs to meet you if you're gonna be in his house. I'll show him this and, if he likes you, I can try and get you an extra fifty dollars."

The main house was both rambling and ostentatious. In its early days it had merely been a standard ranch house but, over time had been added to and embellished by different owners, the result being an unusual combination of McCreedy's ranch house in Red Rock and Silky O'Sullivan's porticoed mansion in San Francisco. 

Lang nodded to the man guarding the back door and let himself in. Passing through a drearily painted lobby they then walked down an equally dreary corridor. Here Lang pulled a small bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door at the end, letting them through into a sizeable entrance hall. He locked the door behind them. 

Now that they were in the main part of the house the decor was quite different. Gone was the dreary paintwork that probably only the maids saw — oak panelling dominated here and the ceilings appeared to be higher creating an airy feel. The third door on the right was where they stopped next and Lang removed his hat as he knocked. A curt, "Come," was the response and they entered.

Kid Curry had been in a study or two in his life but never one like this. It was large, the walls clad with bound volumes of all sizes and he looked with fascination at a ladder which appeared to be on wheels so you could push it around the walls in order to reach the books on the higher shelves. The room smelled of beeswax, cigars and wood smoke. Two leather-covered Chesterfield couches separated by a Turkish rug were situated in front of the marble fireplace and dominated the middle of the room. Toward the window stood a highly polished mahogany desk and at this desk sat Emmett Dearborn.

"What is it Milton?" 

"Mister Dearborn, sir, I've found the ideal man to guard your study this week. This is Mister Thaddeus Jones."

Kid politely removed his hat. "Good to meet you, sir."

Emmett Dearborn leaned back in his chair and scrutinized the blond from head to toe making Kid feel a bit like a prize bull at a livestock show. He then slid his gaze to Milton Lang. "You certain he's up to the job?" 

"He can do it Mister Dearborn, I've no doubt about that," Lang replied earnestly, pulling the playing card out of his pocket and placing it on Dearborn's desk. "He did this — first try."

Dearborn glanced at the card and pursed his lips. "Hmmm. Will he be reliable though? Looks a bit young to me."

"I'm thirty and I'm real dependable," stated Kid, trying his best to keep his tone light. He had taken an instant dislike to his future employer and could easily see why the man had got under Heyes' skin.

Dearborn made no acknowledgement of Kid's words and drummed his fingers on the desk in thought while he stared, unblinking, at Kid. After a long minute he sighed. "Well, I suppose he will have to do. We're running out of time and I don't want that safe unprotected so close to the hearing. There's no knowing what that troublemaker Stokely, might do. After all, he was in jail on a murder charge. We need to step up the security all round, Milton. See to it."

Kid swallowed hard as he fought back the urge to say something; he needed this job so his partner could get to the safe. With the number of armed men around it would be impossible, even for Heyes, to sneak in without getting himself killed if he didn't have some inside help. He was starting to wish, however, that he'd used another alias. After all, Dearborn might remember that a man called Jones had helped the Sheriff solve Hank Henderson's murder, but it was too late for that now.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Flicking his pocket watch closed Kid Curry yawned and stood up to walk around the room yet again. It was ten after three. Right now, being on his feet was the only thing that was keeping him awake. If he had known this was what he would be doing, he would have given last night's liaison with Ruby a miss.

Stopping by the window he moved the heavy velvet curtain and peered out into the darkness. A movement caught his eye and his hand instinctively went to his gun. Thankfully it was just one of the other hands on patrol outside. Knowing he could be seen in the faint light from the oil lamp on the desk he remained there for a moment and acknowledged the man's presence as he walked past.

Still yawning, he closed the curtain and took another circuit around the room. He had never seen so many books in one place and, he was sure, neither had Heyes. Smiling to himself he could just imagine the look on his partner's face when he saw them. Kid's smile faded and he stood, hands on hips, and considered for a moment what he couldn't see. He had been told he was guarding a safe but where it was situated was proving to be a mystery. One thing was for sure, he would have to locate it before getting Heyes in here. First of all, he would need every available minute to crack it, not waste time searching for it in the first place and secondly, he needed to be able to tell his partner what type of safe he would be dealing with. From past experience he knew that Heyes could get real cranky if he felt the location he would be working in hadn't been piped properly.

The minute creak of a floorboard in the hallway made him turn and listen intently. Another creak and he had flattened himself to the wall beside the door, gun in hand. He felt for the key in his vest pocket, reassuring himself that the door was locked. Hearing the lock click he held his breath and watched the doorknob turn. Then, as the door opened he cocked his gun, the triple click sounding loud in the still of the night.

Emmett Dearborn froze as the Colt .45 was pointed at his head. 

"Oh...ah...I'm real sorry, Mister Dearborn." Kid hurriedly holstered his pistol. "Wasn't expectin' it to be you at this time of night."

Visibly shaken Dearborn paused to take a breath before quietly closing the door behind him. He walked over to a side table, took the stopper out of a cut glass decanter and poured himself a brandy which he knocked back in one.

"I thought you was an intruder," Kid offered by way of explanation, swallowing his delight at scaring the pompous man a little.

"An intruder with a key?"

"Might not have been a key, sir, it couldha been someone pickin' the lock."

"Hmm....well...at least you're awake and alert. That's something, I suppose."

Kid regarded his employer steadily. "Just doin' what you're payin' me for. Is anythin' wrong upstairs?"

"No. Just checking up on you."

Returning to the door Emmett Dearborn paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Lock this behind me," he ordered.

Kid smiled to himself as he closed the door and locked it, then he crossed the room and flopped down on one of the couches. He rubbed his hands over his tired eyes and wondered whether Dearborn was going to make a habit of checking up on him in the middle of the night. If he was, then that would make getting Heyes in and out unseen a lot more difficult. 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Late one afternoon and on the pretext of exercising his horse, Kid Curry rode out from the ranch toward the old cabin, taking a roundabout route so that he could make sure he wasn't being followed.

As he approached Kid could see Heyes sitting on the porch steps idly shuffling a pack of cards, all the while adding various cuts and flourishes to keep his fingers nimble. He whistled loudly, making Heyes look up. 

"Good to see you're keepin' yourself busy, Heyes," Kid said caustically as he dismounted and sat down with a thud next to his grinning partner.

Tucking the pack of cards away into his shirt pocket Heyes regarded him thoughtfully. "You look tired."

"I am tired." Kid yawned at the thought. "Gave Lang a little shootin' demonstration and now he's got me workin' nights guardin' that study."

"That's great!" 

Kid's sideways glare made Heyes quickly clarify his remark. "I mean, it's good you being in the study at night. You'll be there when I'm opening the safe."

"If you're opening the safe."

"Oh?" Heyes asked. "What have you found?"

"Nothin'."

"What d'you mean nothing?"

"Just what I said, Heyes. I've looked all over that dang study two nights runnin', and I can't find a safe."

"It's most likely behind a picture, Kid. You have looked behind all the pictures?"

Kid Curry pressed his lips together and sighed deeply. "I know to look behind pictures, Heyes, and I would've — if there were any!"

Heyes gave a small facial shrug. "Huh. I had figured Dearborn for a picture man, something large and expensive. What's he got on the walls then, just books?"

"Yeah, just books. Lots of 'em."

"Huh."

"Heyes, will ya quit saying 'huh' and think."

Seeing his partner's brow wrinkle, Kid tilted his hat and leaned back on the splintered boards of the porch with both elbows, getting ready for a long wait but, in no time at all Heyes said, "There's only one thing for it, you're going to have to look behind all the books." 

Pushing his hat away from his eyes Kid stared at him. "You gotta be jokin'."

"The safe has to be hidden behind one of the bookcases. There must be a lever in back of one of the books that makes the bookcase open. Try looking, say....between holster and shoulder height."

Curry groaned. "You have no idea how many books I'll have to take out, Heyes."

"Look on the bright side, Kid. It'll give you something to do — help you stay awake."

"Well, ain't you got a real big heart," Kid's reply dripped with sarcasm.

Heyes smiled inwardly. His cousin was always proddy when he was tired or hungry. As long as the sarcasm kept coming he knew he had nothing to worry about. It was when the Kid was still and silent that he had to watch out, usually for a set of knuckles coming his way. In all the years they had been together that hadn't happened too often and, more importantly, Kid had never been mad enough to threaten him with his gun. Even so, when he saw the signs Heyes didn't push him. 

Clearing his throat he asked. "Have you figured out a way to get me in?"

"Nope."

"Kid, have you actually been doing anything apart from impressing people with your gun?"

"I haven't figured it out, Heyes, because like Jim said, the place is guarded like a fortress." He quickly searched for a comparison. "Think Armendariz and double it!"

"Really?" Heyes eyes narrowed as he looked at the ground saying almost to himself, "He must have something real valuable there."

"I don't think they're guarding anythin' valuable, unless you wanna call Dearborn's wife, valuable. She was held up in a train robbery..." Kid caught the slightly worried look on Heyes' face and nodded. "Yeah, I know. Nobody has blamed the Devil's Hole Gang — yet — but it scared her to death. Now she's got some sort of ...uh...hysteria, I think Lang called it."

"Hmmm. That's interesting." His chin in his hand, Heyes sat in silent deliberation.

Kid waited for a long minute then, when his partner still didn't say anything, he prised himself away from the porch steps. "Well, if all your gonna do is sit there, I'll be gettin' back. With any luck I may get some more sleep before I start searchin' behind all those books."

"Uh, huh," replied Heyes, absently.

"See ya in a couple of days," Kid called over his shoulder as he placed his left foot on the worn leather of the stirrup and wearily heaved himself into the saddle.

Heyes blinked and looked up to see where the voice had come from. "Uh? Oh yeah, see ya, Kid."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

It took a little time and an awful lot of pacing but, once he had come up with an idea, Hannibal Heyes decided there was no time to waste. He had yet to grind out the finer details but, as the court hearing was drawing ever closer, he needed to make a start.

Hoping to get to Boldford before sundown he urged his horse into a gallop and it was not too long before he was once again riding down the empty main street. Pulling to a halt outside a small yellow-painted, flat-fronted building on the outskirts of town he dismounted, tethered his sweating horse and knocked smartly on the front door.

Myles Murdock smiled as he opened the door to a familiar face. "Nice to see you again, Heyes." Knowing that he had riled the other half of the partnership a little last time they met, he looked cautiously up and down the street. "The Kid not with you?" 

"Just me this time, Nibs." Heyes pushed his hat to the back of his head as he stepped inside the workshop, his eyes sweeping the room for inspiration. "You can breathe easy," he added with barely suppressed amusement. 

"What is it this time? I'm assuming this isn't just a social call." 

Heyes looked thoughtfully at the muddle of bottles of dye and jars of powders in front of him as he helped himself to a seat at one of Murdock's cluttered work desks. "I need some papers making up. Nothing fancy just so as they look authentic."

"What kind of papers?"

"A couple of degrees from a medical school, I figure... somewhere in Pennsylvania should look good. I'll leave you to sort out the wording. One of them must be in Psychiatry." 

"Psychiatry?!"

"That's right." Heyes raised his eyebrows, tilting his head to one side. "Shouldn't you be writing this down?" 

Murdock sighed as he picked up a notepad and pencil. He scribbled a few lines. "Anything else?" he asked, a little testily.

"As a matter of fact there is. I want a few calling cards for a doctor. They should say something about specialising in illnesses of the mind."

"You gotta name for this doctor?"

"Yeah, Felix Gauner. Second thoughts, don't make him a doctor, make him a professor." 

Murdock continued making notes. "That all?"

"Just one more. A label for a medicine bottle. 'Aretaeus Nerve Elixir'. You know the kinda thing. Only, Nibs, please don't make it sound like it comes from a snake oil salesman."

Murdock sighed again as he rubbed his balding head and looked at his notes. "You don't want much do you?"

Heyes ignored the question and smiled cheekily. "How long will that take?" 

"If I work through the night I can have everything ready for you by the morning. It'll cost you though." 

"How much?" asked Heyes, guardedly.

"Fifty dollars." The absence of Kid Curry had emboldened Murdock.

"Fifty!" 

Myles Murdock took a step backwards as Heyes' stood and straightened his hat. Darkening eyes looked from under the brim as the ex-outlaw slowly shook his head. "You're real lucky the Kid ain't here — you know that, don't you? I'll pay you twenty. Make sure they're ready the day after tomorrow." 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Kid Curry yawned mightily. The gentle rocking motion of his horse as he walked it along the dusty trail was making him feel even more sleepy so, with a shake of his head he spurred the animal into a lope. The sooner he got to the cabin the sooner he could return to his bed for another hour or two's shut-eye. 

He was tired - dog tired. Staying up all night had never agreed with him, even back when they were breaking into banks. He was much better suited to holding up a train in broad daylight. Admittedly, his surroundings at the ranch were more comfortable than the last time he had been on watch at night. Having him sit in a tree watching Louise Carson's boarding house in Touchstone had not been one of Heyes' better ideas. 

Heyes looked up from unloading a number of items from his saddlebags onto the old table as his partner stomped into the dim interior. "Jeez, Kid. You look worse than last time," he said, as the blond rather unwisely sat down heavily on the only chair. There was a loud crack but, mercifully, the chair stayed in one piece.

"Gee, thanks," Kids yawned his reply. Tired eyes attempted a glare for his partner. "You'd better have come up with a plan Heyes, 'cause this night work is killin' me!"

"My plan will only work if you've found the safe," Heyes reminded him.

"I found it," Kid confirmed. "Like you said... it was behind one of the bookcases. I tell ya Heyes, I don't wanna see another book again for a very long time. If you dare go pullin' one out from those saddlebags of yours anytime soon, I'm gonna brain ya with it!"

Heyes knew an empty threat when he heard one. However, his eyes shone at the news that his theory had been correct. "Was it a lever?"

"Yep...but I lost count of how many books I had to look behind before I found it. Some of them are real heavy, you know."

"Yeah, yeah. Quit grouchin' and listen to the plan."


	7. Chapter 7

Its harness jingling and wheels creaking, a smart red-wheeled buggy drawn by a lively bay pony made its way steadily through the Colorado countryside. Seated on the buggy's red plush seat was a grey-haired gentleman with an impressive matching grey beard and moustache. He was dressed in a sombre black suit and beside him on the seat sat a new black bowler hat. 

It was late in the afternoon of what had been a beautiful sunny day with hardly a cloud in the sky. The sun had been warm but away in the distance a good covering of snow was visible on the mountain peaks. The quivering leaves of the aspens and maples had only just begun to turn yellow but promised that the fall of 1883 would be a spectacular blaze of colour.

Having skirted a small wood the dry dirt road straightened out once again and headed directly toward the gentleman's destination. Before proceeding any further he stopped the buggy, placed the bowler hat securely on his head and smoothed his moustache before flicking the reins and urging the pony into a trot once more. Glancing down at the worn brown leather bag at his feet, he smiled.

As he came to a halt in front of a pair of ornate wrought iron gates two men appeared, both armed with shotguns. Clyde and the man with the slouch hat regarded the distinguished gentleman in the smart buggy and decided against poking the barrels of their guns through the bars. That particular greeting was for cowpokes and no-goods. They had not been advised of any visitors today but that would be no excuse for upsetting someone who may be important.

A somewhat indistinct, but possibly, Teutonic accent greeted them. "Good afternoon. Am I right in thinking that this the Dearborn residence?"

"Mister Dearborn ain't here," drawled the slouch hat.

"It is the lady of the house I am here to see."

"And you is?" 

"Expected."

The two guards cast an uncertain look at one another. "Miz Dearborn don't have no gentleman callers," said Clyde.

"Well, she will see me." The gentleman was adamant. He reached inside his jacket, prompting the two men to warily point their shotguns at him, and took out his calling card. "If you will allow me to drive my surrey through the gate you can take my card to your mistress."

Clyde received a nod from slouch hat, the latch was undone and each man pulled their own half of the gate open so that the buggy could pass through. Slender, perfectly manicured fingers handed over the calling card. 

"Wait here," slouch hat muttered, and jogged toward to the house.

While waiting for him to return Clyde kept a wary eye on the visitor who occupied himself by gently brushing minute particles of the dusty road off his trousers and picking invisible pieces of fluff from his coat sleeves.

The gentleman looked up expectantly when slouch hat returned stating, "Miz Dearborn ain't expectin' no one, but she says she will see ya anyways."

Tilting his head the gentleman smiled graciously before tying off the reins and climbing down from the buggy. He picked up the leather bag. "I take it someone will look after my horse?"

"Yeah, that'll all be taken care of but first ya gotta be searched."

Grey eyebrows were raised. "I beg your pardon?"

"Everyone who comes in here has to be searched, 'specially anyone visitin' Miz Dearborn."

The gentleman stood still while he was duly patted down, then he was told, "The bag. I gotta look in the bag."

Swallowing his irritation he opened his bag and slouch hat felt around inside. Satisfied that there was no gun concealed within he said, "Follow me," and they walked across the courtyard toward the front door. Slouch hat took hold of the lion head door knocker and tapped it twice. He then tipped his hat and retreated to take care of the horse and buggy.

Almost immediately the door was opened by a maid and the gentleman stepped inside, removing his bowler hat as he did so. He was shown into a tastefully decorated room to the right of the doorway. 

The walls of the salon were covered in a yellow damask wallpaper which was, in turn, complemented by the darker gold curtains and swags that framed the windows. A variety of expensive pieces of dark wood furniture with matching gold upholstery graced the room together with a white marble fireplace, while a mixture of fine landscape paintings and family portraits adorned the walls. It was obvious that this room had benefitted from a woman's touch.

Having first checked his appearance in the large mirror above the fireplace the gentleman settled himself in one of the more comfortable-looking chairs and drummed the fingers of his right hand on his knee as he waited. 

Eventually the door opened and a young, attractive, auburn-haired woman entered. She was dressed in an elegant, emerald-green, silk day dress and clutched a calling card tightly in her hand.

Politely getting to his feet he gave a bow. "Mrs Dearborn?" His question was met by a nod. "Thank you for agreeing to see me. Please accept my sincere apologies for calling un-announced but, I happened to learn of your malaise from Doctor Urwin in Amity City. You see, it is a particular interest of mine, and I am sure I can assist in alleviating your condition."

Amelia Dearborn turned and whispered something to a maid then, leaving the door open, made her way slowly over to a small table in the centre of the room.

Hesitatingly she lowered herself onto a chair and again glanced at the card in her hand. Its stylish copperplate script stated that the grey haired gentleman in her salon was Professor Felix Gauner, M.D., School of Nervous Diseases, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. 

"Please, do sit down," she said quietly, indicating one of the high backed parlour chairs around the table. "I have sent for some refreshment. Would you care to take some tea?"

"That would be delightful. Thank you."

"I am sorry the fire is not lit. I was not expecting visitors."

Professor Gauner smiled gently. "Please, don't trouble yourself, madam. It is of no consequence."

Amelia Dearborn's large hazel eyes regarded the man anxiously. Previous consultations with doctors had always taken place in the presence of her husband but he was in Amity City today on business and she was unsure how he would feel about her seeing a doctor he had not first approved.

They both looked toward the door as the sound of booted footsteps together with two pairs of scurrying feet approached. A maid entered the salon carrying a tray set with a pretty pink and white china tea service. While she placed it on the table the hushed voice of another woman could be heard outside in the hallway followed by the deeper, and slightly testy, voice of a man.

Professor Gauner recognized this voice — it belonged to his partner, Kid Curry. Knowing Kid would not be best pleased at being hauled out of his bed even ten minutes earlier than usual he fought to contain a mischievous smile.

As one maid departed another entered and quietly informed Mrs Dearborn that she should feel safe as her husband's new man, Mister Jones, was now stationed outside should she need him. Hearing this piece of information Professor Gauner raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"I am very nervous around strangers," Amelia offered by way of explanation.

The Professor nodded. "I hope to be able to help you with that, my dear. Why don't you begin by telling me what prompted your condition."

Amelia Dearborn proceeded to pour the tea, politely offering in turn milk, sugar and a selection of dainty pastries while she recounted her ordeal at the hands of the outlaws as they held up the Denver train. Eventually, her hands began to shake so much as she relived the distressing episode that she had to put down her cup and clasp her hands together tightly in her lap.

While she told her story, Professor Gauner gave Amelia his full attention but inwardly Hannibal Heyes could feel his stomach tying itself into a knot. It was only since they had been trying for amnesty that he and the Kid had considered the effect their past crimes might have had on the people they robbed. In the days when they led the Devil's Hole Gang they had not concerned themselves with anything other than the money and staying one jump ahead of the law.

Even now they still held the owners of the railroads and the banks in scant regard but the ordinary man on the street, those people whose life-savings they had removed along with the companies' money, that was another matter entirely and one which weighed on their consciences more heavily than they cared to admit. And here, to his mounting shame, was a lovely young woman describing how this single life-changing experience had left her with various physical and mental conditions as a result of being threatened at gunpoint by a band of very desperate men.

There was only one thing that Heyes could say he was pleased about and that was, from her description of the hold-up, the Devil's Hole Gang had not been responsible. 

Amelia had finished her story and was in the process of listing her symptoms when there was the sound of a door slamming followed by a sudden commotion in the hallway, causing the poor woman to gasp and sway precariously. Professor Gauner had just risen to prevent her from falling from her chair when Emmett Dearborn entered, his face flushed and his eyes angry.

"What the devil is going on here?" he blustered, his hands balling into fists. "You sir, take your hands off my wife! Jones, get in here. NOW!"

At the sound of his name Kid took two quick strides into the room, his hand on the butt of his gun. Upon first sight of his partner's disguise his eyes widened and he almost laughed, but recovered quickly enough to look sufficiently threatening.

"It's alright, Emmett. I'm fine." Amelia assured her irate husband before smiling weakly at the kindly Professor who currently held her wrist as he studied his pocket watch.

Emmett Dearborn glared at Kid. "What do you think you are doing letting a stranger come into the house?"

"I didn't let him in boss. Your wife agreed to see him before I was called. But," Kid added, quickly indicating the door with his thumb, "I've been out there the whole time."

Closing his pocket watch the Professor gently placed Amelia's hand on her lap and picked his card up from the table offering it to Dearborn. "Professor Felix Gauner from the University of Philadelphia Medical School, at your service."

Snatching the card Dearborn gave it a cursory glance then tossed it back onto the table.

"So, you're some bigwig from Philadelphia. What are you doing in my house?" he demanded. 

"I specialize in treating conditions of the nerves, exactly like the one your wife suffers from."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Would you like to see my credentials? I have them right here." Professor Gauner picked up his bag and took out a leather tube containing two rolled up documents. He presented it to Emmett Dearborn who pulled the documents free and studied them carefully, one at a time.

"You do seem to be highly qualified," Dearborn conceded. "But I don't take kindly to someone, no matter how well qualified, just turning up without an appointment. And then to come in here and see you manhandling my wife..."

"Manhandling?" the Professor asked indignantly. "I can assure you, sir, it is not my business to manhandle people. All your shouting almost put your wife in a faint. I was merely taking Mrs Dearborn's pulse, which I have to say is much too fast, and a little irregular."

Emmett Dearborn's anger was replaced with a look of concern. "Has my wife told you what happened to her?"

"Yes. Terrible. Terrible business. I was about to suggest a treatment."

"What sort of treatment?"

Professor Gauner cleared his throat and glanced over at the gunman standing in the doorway. "I think it would be best if that was discussed in private."

Dearborn waved his hand dismissively in Kid's direction. "Out. And close the door behind you."

From across the room Heyes could feel the Kid bristling at the man's attitude and was relieved that, without a word, he did as he was asked.

"Having heard Mrs Dearborn's account of the dreadful event, it is my professional opinion that she would benefit greatly from hypnosis," stated the Professor.

"Doctor Urwin already tried that. It didn't work."

"I am sure Doctor Urwin is a very good physician but, with all due respect, he is not a specialist. I am."

"Maybe if you could wait a day or two while I talk with Doctor Urwin..."

"I appreciate your reservations, Mister Dearborn, but tomorrow I will be on my way to Denver to take the train back east. This will be the only chance I have to treat your wife in her own home where she is likely to feel more relaxed and comfortable but, if you would prefer, you can always travel to my clinic in Philadelphia."

Amelia's eyes shot a pleading glance toward her husband.

Dearborn frowned. "Well, I suppose..."

Before the man could object further, Professor Gauner escorted Amelia over to a velvet-covered chaise longue. "Please, make yourself comfortable, my dear. Just lie back and try to relax," he instructed. "Now, if we could perhaps have the room made a little darker ... and warmer? A restful atmosphere is most important."

While Amelia settled herself on the chaise longue a maid was summoned to close the curtains, light the fire and a single lamp thereby filling the room with a soft, golden glow. The Professor pulled a footstool alongside the chaise longue and sat facing his patient.

"If you could take a seat over there," he directed Dearborn to the other side of the room, "we can begin."

Hannibal Heyes loved to read and when he didn't have a book he would read pretty much whatever came to hand, from a small-town newspaper to the excruciatingly inaccurate dime novels detailing the escapades of a familiar pair of notorious outlaws. This reading matter had, on occasion, also included one or two medical journals purloined from doctors' offices when either he or Kid Curry had been forced to seek treatment for a bullet wound. In one of these journals there had been an article detailing how hypnosis had been used by surgeons during the War Between the States as a form of anaesthesia, and so Heyes had come to the conclusion that if it could be used to help someone cope with physical pain, maybe it could be used for mental pain as well.

Having instructed Amelia to close her eyes and breathe slowly and deeply the Professor took her hand in his. He began to lightly stroke the back of it with his thumb, all the while talking to her, his soft warm baritone drifting deep into her subconscious. Little by little, he talked her through every single minute of the robbery exactly as Heyes knew it would have played out, trying his best to sooth her shattered psyche.

After about twenty minutes Professor Gauner encouraged Amelia to breathe normally again and open her eyes. She blinked several times then glanced down at her hand, which he was still holding, before looking up directly into his brown eyes. Uncomfortable with this almost intimate connection he averted his eyes and quickly let go of her hand. 

"Tell me how you feel, my dear."

Amelia smiled. "Better. Calmer. Thank you."

Professor Gauner turned to Mister Dearborn. "Your wife should rest now. I have here a bottle of Aretaeus Nerve Elixir. I would recommend she take a little each evening when she retires. It will reinforce the work we have done here today and ensure a restful sleep," he stated, reaching into his bag and extracting a brown glass bottle which he placed on the table. 

Dearborn walked over, picked up the bottle and studied the label. 

"Hmmph. Well, I suppose we should discuss your fee, Professor. If you would accompany me to my study?" Still holding the bottle of medicine, Dearborn opened the door. Professor Gauner picked up his bag, turned to his patient and smiled as he gave a slight bow.

"I wish you well, Mrs Dearborn." 

"Thank you, Professor."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

In the study across the hall the curtains had also been closed and the lamps lit. A log fire burned brightly in the grate. Kid Curry lounged on one of the couches, long legs stretched out toward the flames. He quickly stood up as the two men entered.

"Go stand by the door." Dearborn barely acknowledged the Kid as he barked his order before proceeding to pour two snifters of brandy from the glass decanter. He handed one to the Professor. "Now about your fee...."

"Mister Dearborn, I have no intention of accepting your money. As you rightly pointed out, you did not enlist my services. I came here to treat your wife solely out of my own professional interest."

From where he stood alongside the door Kid could not help but raise his eyebrows a little. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he could recall Hannibal Heyes turning down money, legitimate or otherwise. 

"That is true," replied Dearborn, "but if my wife's equilibrium has been restored by only a fraction it will be a vast improvement. You must allow me to reimburse you in some way."

"Well, there is one thing ...." the Professor hesitated .

"Go on."

"I have to admit that the technique I used today is in its infancy and so I would very much like to remain here, just until I am satisfied that Mrs Dearborn is not experiencing any ill effects."

"Ill effects?! Is that likely?" Emmet Dearborn asked apprehensively.

"Not in my experience," assured the Professor, "but I would not deserve my reputation if I did not ensure my patients were no worse for their treatment, now would I?"

"I understand. I will have one of the maids make up a room for you."

The Professor shook his head. "That is very generous of you, but it won't be necessary. You see, I don't need much sleep; even less when I am working. I am currently preparing an article for a very important scientific journal and, as I have some paperwork to go through, I am likely to be awake most of the night. I would hate to disturb anyone — you see, I do have a habit of pacing up and down while I think." He avoided catching the Kid's eye. "This room is very comfortable and, if you would allow it, I could be happily occupied here until the morning."

Dearborn's face creased in puzzlement. "Really?"

"Absolutely." 

"Jones will have to stay here with you. He is currently guarding some important documents."

"Mister Jones will not disturb me."

"It just seems a little out of the ordinary..."

"I can assure you it is quite normal for me," confirmed the Professor with a reassuring smile.

Dearborn raised his voice. "You will have company tonight, Jones."

"Fine with me, boss," affirmed Kid.

"Well now, Professor, we can't have you working through the night on an empty stomach. Would you take supper with us? I would very much like to hear about this article you are writing." 

Professor Gauner inclined his head in gracious acceptance. "And I would be delighted to tell you about it. I take it I may leave my bag containing my papers here?"

"Certainly. Jones won't touch it," said Dearborn, adding without lowering his voice, "Frankly, I would be surprised if he can read."

Kid's jaw tightened and his right hand flexed behind his back. If there was one thing that really riled him it was people thinking that because he was good with a gun meant he must be stupid.

Swallowing the last of his brandy the Professor picked up the bottle of Elixir that Dearborn had placed next to the decanter and followed his host from the room, aiming a cheeky wink at his frowning partner as he walked by.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Shivering slightly as the chill of the early morning air gripped his shirt sleeves, a sleepy Thaddeus Jones accompanied an annoyingly bright-eyed Professor Gauner from the house to the stables and instructed one of the wranglers to hitch up the buggy. He then lost no time in escorting the Professor to the gates and watched as the buggy hastened along the road and away into the distance. With a heartfelt sigh he flexed his shoulders feeling them relax for the first time in the last twelve hours. 

It had been a long night...

The grandfather clock in the hall has just finished chiming midnight when Hannibal Heyes tapped lightly on the study door. He heard footsteps, then the click of the lock. Once he had slipped inside, the Kid locked the door again and pocketed the key.

Heyes strode over to one of the couches and sank down onto the smooth leather, stopping himself just in time before habitually running his fingers through his hair. He couldn't afford to disturb his disguise just yet. 

Kid sat down opposite him and grinned. "You sure look a sight, Heyes," he said quietly.

His cousin smiled back. "Like it, do you? All my own work... well, mostly. I like to think Soapy would approve."

"It sure don't look like you've lost your touch when it comes to riggin' up a disguise. Let's hope you've still got it when it comes to opening a Brooker 101."

"Of course I've still got it!" hissed Heyes, indignantly. "I opened that Zelinski in under five minutes, didn't I?!"

"How long before you get started?"

"A couple of hours at least. We want to make sure everyone is asleep. Has Dearborn still been checking on you in the middle of the night?"

"Naw, he hasn't stuck his nose in here for a couple of nights now. Looks like he finally trusts me to stay awake." Kid's teeth clenched. "Y' know, Heyes, I swear ... if I wasn't gettin' outta here real soon, I'd be sorely tempted to—"

Loathing also evident in his voice, Heyes cut in, "Yeah, I know. I'd be tempted flatten him myself."

"What I can't understand is how a man like him got to marry a woman like that," griped Kid. 

"Darned if I can work it out." Heyes, smiled impishly. "But, I did get the feeling she took to me some, even looking like this."

"Pfftt."

"Kid, the way she looked at me...."

"Maybe she likes older men — and by that I mean real old." Kid indicated Heyes' greyed hair. "You probably just reminded her of her pa."

"Funny."

It was Kid's turn to grin. "So, did she eat anythin' at supper or was she just gazin' at ya with those big ol' eyes of hers the whole time?"

"She wasn't at supper. Dearborn said she was tired so she went straight up to her room and, to tell you the truth, I'm glad she did."

"Don't sound like you, Heyes, not wantin' the company of a woman like her."

"Well, if Dearborn had noticed the way she looked at me, I'd lay money on the odds you'd be taking me back to town in a long box."

"True, but he wouldn't have shot ya. He'd have got me to do it!"

Heyes snorted, then stood up to take a proper look around the room for the first time. The Kid had been right, Dearborn had a vast collection of books. He would have no trouble passing a couple of hours perusing the shelves until it was time to tackle that safe.

"So," he said, strolling over to the far wall and casting his eyes over the titles. "Where is it?"

"Behind that panel over there." Kid pointed to Heyes' right. "There's a whole bunch of books with names that end in 'ology'. Pull out the one that says Den ... somethin'. There's a lever behind it. Turn it to the right."

A slender finger drifted along the shelf before coming to rest on one of a collection of red leather bound volumes with ornate gold lettering on the spines. "Den...dro...chro...nology?" Heyes laughed.

"What's so funny about that?"

"Nothing. It's the book next to it — Criminology. Kinda appropriate."

Heyes pulled out the large book to reveal a lever set within a shallow recess, and when he turned it the bookcase swung toward him. After a cursory glance at the Brooker 101 he closed the panel again, took the book on Criminology from the shelf and, leafing through it, ambled back to the fireplace.

Kid stretched out along a couch and folded his arms across his chest. "Well, if you're gonna read then I'm gonna sleep."

Heyes tore his eyes away from the enticing volume. "But you're being paid to stay awake."

"Heyes, I was woken up two hours earlier than I should have because you showed up," said Kid as he closed his eyes. "The least you can do is take part of my watch."

"That's a little unnecessary now, don't you think?"

"What is?"

"Your watch. Kid, you do know I'm gonna break into the safe you're guarding?!"

Heyes quickly returned his gaze to the book thereby avoiding the ice-laden glare he knew would come his way.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

The dented casing of the silver pocket watch flipped open as Heyes checked the time against the chimes of the hall clock. Two a.m. Time to get started. Reluctantly closing the book that had held his attention for the past two hours, he nudged his partner awake.

Kid stood, stretched with a groan, then walked over to the window. Pulling one of the curtains back slightly he looked out into the darkness.

From his place on the couch Heyes watched him, puzzled. "Uh, what are you doing?"

"What I always do. I look out the window from time to time so that the fella on patrol outside can see me. I can't do anything different tonight. If they don't see me they might come in to check if anythin's wrong."

"How long are you gonna stand there?"

Kid kept his eyes on the darkened window. "Just 'til Mike walks past." 

A minute or so later Kid raised his hand in salute then closed the curtain. He motioned toward the bookcase. "Safe's all yours, Professor."

Heyes unfastened the old leather bag and groped around inside, tugging at the false bottom he had created until it came free at one end. He reached underneath it, past his secreted Schofield, for the envelope containing the original deeds.

Kid took up his customary position by the door, listening for any movement in the hall. As soon as he nodded his confirmation that all was quiet Heyes took the envelope over to the bookcase and swung it open again. Sitting down on the floor next to the vault he took hold of the dial and turned it back and forth a few times, checking to see if the mechanism worked smoothly. If it hadn't been well maintained any stutter in the movement of the dial could mean the process would take a lot longer than he had planned. Satisfied that all was well, he placed his ear against the cold steel of the door.

It had been quite some time since Hannibal Heyes had cracked a Brooker 101. The 101 had been the most commonly used safe by the railroads during their early Devil's Hole days and he had become quite adept at opening it. He had even started having Kid time him so that he could try and better it at each attempt. Then, to his dismay, the 101 was supplanted by the more sophisticated 202 which took him a great deal longer to open. That was when, just to save time, they had started using dynamite instead of his safe-cracking skills. 

It wasn't long before Heyes heard the first tumbler drop into place and glancing at the dial he made a mental note of the number. Three turns to twenty-one. He reversed the dial and after two careful turns heard another click. Two turns to sixty-five. He smiled — he was halfway there already. 

Heyes glanced over at the Kid, who hadn't moved an inch, before closing his eyes and once more focussing on the safe. 

One very slow turn in the opposite direction. Nothing. He shook his head knowing that he must have missed it. Another slow turn. Click. Sixteen. This was going to be a great deal easier than he had imagined. All he needed was one more number. If he could just ...

"Heyes, somebody's comin'."

At Kid's hissed warning Heyes' eyes opened. "You sure? Not just imagining it like in Dearborn's office?" his query held an element of sarcasm.

"Move!" urged Curry.

His heart pounding, Heyes scrambled to his feet, closed the bookcase and dashed back to the couch. There he tucked the envelope back in his bag and scattered a number of handwritten sheets of paper over the couch and on the floor at his feet.

Hearing a tap on the door instead of a key in the lock, Kid Curry drew his Colt. "Who's there?" 

Rolling his eyes at his boss' irritated "Let me in," followed by a quick glance over at Heyes to make sure he was in place, he turned the lock. Dressed in a deep red brocade dressing gown Emmett Dearborn entered the room without so much as a glance at Kid.

The Professor looked up from his papers. "Is everything alright with Mrs Dearborn?"

"My wife is fine, Professor. She appears to be sleeping soundly; much better than she has in a long while, in fact. I just thought I would check to make sure you didn't need anything."

"It's after two in the morning!"

"Yes, I know. I am often up at this hour."

"Well, I can assure you that I am quite comfortable, thank you. I am making good progress with my theory on the use of stimulants and other drugs in relation to neurasthenia." Professor Gauner's eyes drifted back to his notes. 

"As long as you are sure."

"Quite sure, thank you," came the absent reply as the Professor tapped the end of his pencil against his lips in concentration.

Dearborn was just about to turn back toward the door when he frowned. "That's odd."

The Professor looked up. "Hmmm?"

"The shelf over there. There is a book missing."

Quickly getting to his feet the Professor intercepted his host before he could take another step closer to the bookcase. "That would be the one I have here," he said picking up the book from the couch. "A very interesting volume indeed."

Dearborn glanced at the title. "Criminology? How does that help with your theories on nervous diseases?"

Professor Gauner took Dearborn by the elbow and discreetly escorted him back towards the door as he spoke. "Oh, you would be surprised. Many eminent physicians have found that the criminal mind has very close links to insomnia, anxiety, and in extreme cases, insanity. Anyway, you can rest assured I will return the book to its correct place before I leave." 

Satisfied, Dearborn shook hands with the Professor and bade him goodnight.

Kid locked the door after him and listened to the man's footsteps as he climbed the stairs. Once they sounded far enough away he leant against the wall and blew out his cheeks. "Sheesh. Close, huh?"

Heyes took a few deep breaths. "For a moment there...." 

Kid couldn't help giving a low chuckle at his cousin's unusually ruffled demeanour. "Well, do you still think it's excitin'?"

"Huh?" 

"Only the other day you was sayin' how excitin' it was breaking into Dearborn's office."

"I did say that, didn't I?" Heyes shook his head. "Kid, I guess part of what made it so exciting was the threat of getting caught but, now that our amnesty is at stake nearly getting caught is one kinda excitement I can do without."

Curry nodded. "Amen to that."

Heyes retrieved the envelope from his bag and resumed his position in front of the vault. He replayed the successful turns of the dial over in his mind before taking hold and turning it slowly once more. After what seemed like an age he was rewarded with a click. Smiling contentedly he pushed the lever and swung the door open.

Quick brown eyes then scanned the contents of the vault. He had assumed that as the hearing was only the day after tomorrow the envelope containing the deeds would be in a prominent position, but it appeared that he was wrong. 

Heyes began a systematic search, stopping momentarily when he reached three large stacks of bank notes on the second shelf. By the time he reached the bottom he was beginning to wonder if what he was looking for was actually there at all until, right at the back, his hand felt the lid of a lock box. Placing the box on his lap he pulled out a pick from his pocket and, within a few seconds, had it open.

Inside the box lay the envelope that Heyes had been searching for. He checked the contents. The deeds inside were indeed Nibs' forgeries and he duly replaced them with the originals. He was about to close the box when another piece of paper caught his eye and he carefully unfolded it.

Heyes beckoned to his cousin. "Hey, Kid. C'mere."

Kid tore himself away from the door and crouched down next to Heyes who held up the piece of paper.

"Look, it's a Bill of Sale for Foster's law business."

"But, I thought Jim said it hadn't been sold," said Kid.

"He did. Looks like Dearborn has been holding out on Sarah. He never intended to pay her back the money Foster stole from Hank. Once he'd got his hands on Sarah's land and made her bankrupt he probably figured she'd sell what was left of the ranch to pay her debts and then, likely move on. He must have made some arrangement with the buyer not to take over the office just yet."

Blue eyes narrowed. "That scheming, no good—." Kid swallowed his words. "What we gonna do about it, Heyes. Take it to the Sheriff?"

Heyes considered this for a moment. "I'm guessing Dearborn would find himself in a whole mess of trouble if Judge Elkins was to see this," he said slyly, folding the piece of paper and tucking it inside the folds of one of the deeds. "So, we'll just make sure he can't miss it."

"Look at all that money." Kid pointed at the banknotes. He pulled out one of the piles and flicked through it. "Must be ten thousand dollars right here. That would make the whole lot about... thirty thousand dollars." Kid gave a low whistle as his eyes met Heyes'.

"Thirty thousand, four hundred and fifty, to be exact," stated his cousin.

"You counted it?!"

"Didn't need to, Kid. I can sense how much is in a stack of banknotes right down to the last dollar."

"No you can't!"

"You're right, I can't," Heyes admitted with a smirk. "I'm guessing it's what Dearborn got for selling the law business. The exact amount was on the receipt."


	8. Chapter 8

Sheriff Lindstrom smiled amiable at the citizens of Amity City as he crossed the bustling main street in front of a heavily laden wagon and made his way down the boardwalk toward the courthouse. Monday mornings were always busy but even more so when Judge Elkins was in town. The court would be in session very soon and the Sheriff needed to make sure that his new Deputy had everything under control.

As he got nearer, he spied a familiar figure leaning casually against the red brick wall of the imposing building. Now he came to think about it, he hadn't run into either Joshua Smith or Thaddeus Jones since that night in the saloon and that was about a week ago.

"Mornin', Mister Smith."

"Sheriff." Hannibal Heyes tipped his hat. The Sheriff hadn't taken him by surprise this time. Although it may not appear so, he had been watching the street.

"You here for the Henderson hearing?" Lindstrom asked.

"Yep. Mrs Henderson and Jim have just gone inside. I'm waiting for Thaddeus." 

"Haven't seen you two around much. Perhaps we can catch up later over a beer," said the genial lawman as he climbed the courthouse steps and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

Heyes smiled, reluctantly. "I'll look forward to it, Sheriff." 

Turning his attention back to the throng in the main street Heyes soon picked out the telltale glint of a string of silver conchos on the hatband of a floppy brown hat. Kid Curry sat tall in the saddle, astride his black gelding as it trotted alongside a pristine black painted surrey.

As the surrey approached, Heyes pulled his hat down low and unhitched his own horse from the railing. Now that he was partly hidden behind the animal he watched the surrey draw level with the courthouse steps and could hardly contain his surprise when, assisted by her husband, Amelia Dearborn stepped daintily from the carriage. 

Giving a slight nod to his partner Heyes led his horse around the side of the building. Kid dismounted and called to the carriage driver that he was just going to put his horse up in the shade as he led the animal after Heyes. 

A gloved hand squeezed his shoulder as he tethered his mount. "Everything under control?"

"Yep." Kid quickly secured one of his split reins around the hitching post.

"What is Amelia doing here?"

"Dunno."

His voice betraying a little anxiety Heyes asked, "Do you know if Dearborn has looked in the safe since I made the switch?" 

"Well, I ain't exactly been followin' him about the place, but I'm sure there would've been a commotion if he'd discovered it. I gotta go. I'm still supposed to look like I'm guardin' that envelope." With his hand resting on the butt of his Colt Kid quickly rejoined the Dearborns, looking every inch the hired gun as they entered the courthouse.

The Amity City courtroom was abuzz with chatter as it gradually filled with plaintiffs, defendants and a good number of curious spectators. Heyes sat at the back of the room, near the door. Making provision for a quick getaway was something that was still deeply embedded in his psyche. With a twenty year sentence in the Wyoming Territorial Prison hanging over his head he had an innate dislike of courtrooms and would only be drawn inside in exceptional circumstances. 

He also needed to sit as far away from Dearborn as possible. Despite several attempts to wash it out, there were places where his hair still retained some of Nibs' grey powder. Most of it was hidden under his hat but a few strands were still visible and he especially didn't want Emmett Dearborn or his wife to see it. 

Kid Curry sat with his employer alongside all the other plaintiffs. Once he had known that he would be playing bodyguard to an envelope, he and Heyes had agreed that, when Dearborn was asked to approach the bench and present the deeds to the judge, Kid would join Heyes at the back of the room. However, that decision had been reached without the knowledge that Amelia would accompany her husband to court. Kid knew he would now have to stay put. The last thing they needed was for Amelia to feel vulnerable and so induce some sort of anxiety attack or fainting fit and so disrupt the proceedings. 

At precisely ten-thirty the bailiff called for everyone to stand while Judge Elkins took his place at a large desk on a dais set a foot or so off the floor at the far end of the room. A few feet in front of him was a low railing with a gap in the middle which separated him from the masses. Heyes was certain that they had never come across a Judge Elkins before but he still felt relieved that the Judge didn't look at all familiar. 

The morning dragged on with the Judge hearing case after case, and Heyes found himself speculating on how long the Kid would manage to stay awake. When, at last, the bailiff announced that the next case to be heard would be Dearborn versus Henderson, the former outlaw leader shook himself out of a boredom-induced stupor and finally gave the proceedings his undivided attention. 

Emmett Dearborn rose confidently from his chair and stood in front of the railings as did a very nervous-looking Sarah Henderson. 

Heyes had met up with Jim at the old cabin only yesterday to give him the good news that he had managed to switch the deeds. He had left it up to Jim as to what he was going to tell his sister and hoped that his explanation wouldn't give too much away as to their true identities. However, by the look on Sarah Henderson's face Heyes doubted that Jim had told her anything at all.

The bailiff's call also made Kid's back straighten, every fibre of his being now on the alert for trouble. He had no idea how Dearborn was going to react but he assumed that, knowing his luck, once the true owner of the land was revealed accusations of some sort would probably come his way. After all, he had been guarding the safe. 

Judge Elkins thumbed through the files on his desk. "Ah, yes, here it is. Dearborn versus Henderson," he said, as he picked up a bundle of papers. "This is a recommencement of the case I heard last time I was here. A land dispute, I believe." He glanced at the notes then over his half-moon spectacles at the two people in front of him.

"Hmmm, according to these notes you both had one month in which to produce the evidence to prove your legal ownership of the land in question. I will see those documents now."

Sarah Henderson kept her white gloved hands clasped firmly together in front of her but Emmett Dearborn reached into his inside pocket and produced the all-important envelope containing the deeds. He handed it to the bailiff, who in turn passed it to the Judge.

Curry and Heyes held their breath. As Judge Elkins unfolded the documents a small piece of paper dropped silently onto his desk but his attention was solely on the deeds. The large wall clock ticked loudly in the silent courtroom while he read them carefully. After what seemed like a lifetime he looked up, a frown creasing his brow.

"Mister Dearborn, you are the plaintiff, are you not?"

"I am, Your Honour," confirmed Dearborn.

"And the land in question....," the Judge peered again at the court notes. "In your statement, which I have here, you say that the land belongs to you and is being used illegally by Mrs Henderson. Is that right?"

"That is correct." 

"Then why in tarnation are you wasting the Court's time presenting me with documents which show that the land is, in fact, part of the Henderson ranch?"

"WHAT?! That's impossible!" Emmet Dearborn lunged forward in an attempt to seize the deeds from the Judge's hands but was quickly restrained by the bailiff and the Sheriff's Deputy. 

The Judge's gavel struck the desk several times to silence the murmuring spectators. "You'd best calm down or I shall have no alternative but to hold you in contempt."

Emmett Dearborn wrested himself free of the two pairs of hands that held him and, composing himself, straightened his tie as he once again took his place behind the rail.

"There has to be some mistake," he said through clenched teeth as he fought to contain his rage. He turned to glare in Kid's direction. "Someone must have tampered with them."

Kid ensured that his face betrayed nothing while Heyes' eyes remained fixed on the piece of paper on the Judge's desk.

"I can only go by what is here in front of me, Mister Dearborn and, in view of this evidence; I am awarding the case to Mrs Henderson." Judge Elkins reached for his gavel once more but stopped, noticing the piece of paper. Curious, he picked it up and read it.

"What is that?" exclaimed Dearborn.

"This," the Judge waived the piece of paper in his direction, "appears to be a Bill of Sale."

"A Bill of Sale for what?!"

The half moon spectacles were duly adjusted. "It says it's for the sale of the law firm of R. M. Foster. A business which, according to your signed statement, you said had not been sold. But this is quite clearly dated two months ago."

Emmet Dearborn's jaw dropped open and Sarah Henderson gasped. Kid quickly threw an amused glance at his cousin, then over at Jim. Both men were grinning.

"It would appear that you have been withholding money which, at the court's last sitting, I ruled was to be paid to Mrs Henderson when the business was sold. What have you to say?" 

Dearborn's mind was working fast. The last time he had checked those documents was three days ago and everything had been in order. The only people who had been in the study since then, apart from himself and the maid, were Thaddeus Jones and that Professor. He briefly considered Jones but ruled out the quiet gunman, concluding that he was not of high enough intellect to open a safe, let alone know which documents to switch. Then there was Professor Gauner, a physician of renown who may have successfully treated his wife's condition. He would certainly have no interest in a local land dispute. Dearborn was mystified. 

"It must be a fake. Somebody is trying to set me up," he stated adamantly.

"And who do you suppose would do a thing like that?"

Dearborn pointed to Sarah. "Her!" 

Judge Elkins sighed. "Mrs Henderson — I hardly think so. Anyway, your signature is quite clear on the Bill of Sale and it is identical to the one on your statement to the court." The Judge's brows knitted together sternly. "Mister Dearborn, it is quite clear to this court that in order to avoid paying the defendant the funds awarded to her you have lied about the sale of your brother's business. Perjury is a very serious offence and I have no alternative but to find you guilty of such. By the powers vested in me I hereby fine you five hundred dollars and sentence you to six months in the Colorado State Penitentiary." 

Gasps were heard around the courtroom as Judge Elkins' gavel hit the desk with a bang. 

The Deputy deftly handcuffed a stupefied Emmett Dearborn and he and Sheriff Lindstrom led him from the courtroom.

Throughout all this Amelia had sat very still, her hands clutching the small drawstring purse in her lap and her eyes solely on her husband but, as he was led from the court she swayed and toppled sideways in a dead faint. Kid turned just in time to catch her while his partner was immediately on his feet and rushing to his aid.

Without thinking, Heyes removed his hat and used it to fan the unfortunate woman. "Amelia, can you hear me?" he asked. Crouching down in front of her he gently tapped her face.

The voice she could hear had a low, easy tone — something that she thought she recognized — and slowly, large hazel eyes opened to gaze straight into a pair of familiar brown ones. "Professor?" she whispered, before her eyes closed again. The two ex-outlaws exchanged a look of alarm. Heyes hurriedly plonked his hat back on his head adjusting it low over his eyes and took hold of her hand, gently rubbing it between his own. 

Adding the hint of a southern drawl to his voice, just for good measure, he tried to rouse her again. "Mrs Dearborn, uh, ma'am, c'mon now open your eyes.

Once again Amelia's eyelids flickered and searched what little she could now see of Heyes' face. "Do I know you?" 

"Uh, no ma'am, I don't believe we've been introduced. Can you sit up?"

Heyes let go of her hand while Kid gently raised Amelia up to a sitting position but kept hold of her arm in case she was still unsteady. All around them people were still voicing their disbelief that such an upright citizen of Amity City had just been marched over to the jail. Such was the noise, that despite banging his gavel loudly several times the Judge decided to abandon what was left of the morning session and declared that the court was adjourned until two o'clock.

At first Sarah Henderson's feet were rooted to the spot with shock, but it was not long before realization dawned that she could keep the ranch and she turned to her brother and flung her arms around his neck. "I don't know how you did that — and I don't think I want to. All I know is, it worked!" she whispered.

"Oh I didn't do anything," said Jim. "All the credit has to go to Han....uh...Mister Smith and Mister Jones. I told you they would find a way to put this right."

"I must thank them." Taking Jim's hand Sarah excitedly pulled him over toward the two men.

Heyes stood up in time to see Jim and Sarah pushing their way through the crowd. He grinned as the usually demure Sarah Henderson enthusiastically voiced her thanks and hugged him tight before leaning down to plant a kiss on Kid's cheek.

"What happened here?" asked Jim, regarding the still woozy-looking Amelia Dearborn with interest.

"Fainted," replied Kid, succinctly.

"Oh, my goodness," exclaimed Sarah, sitting down on the vacant seat beside Amelia. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Amelia Dearborn took a few deep breaths as she gazed at the group of people surrounding her. "I don't think so. Mister Jones must have caught me." She looked down at the Kid's hand which was still gripping her arm and he hastily let go.

Heyes cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Mrs Henderson, this lady is Mrs Dearborn. I think she was a little overcome by the proceedings."

"Well, I'm not surprised. Have you a carriage to get you home, my dear?" Sarah was clearly concerned.

Amelia tried to collect her thoughts. "Yes ... yes, I do. Mister Jones is employed by my husband. He will see me home safely."

Kid had collected his pay for his week's work from Lang that morning after informing the foreman that he wouldn't be staying on. He smiled at Amelia apologetically. "Uh, Ma'am I don't work for Mister Dearborn any more now the trial is over but..." 

Before he could finish a look of panic crossed Amelia's face and her eyes darted about her in alarm. "Oh dear, what am I going to do?"

Heyes once more crouched down in front of her. "Amelia, uh, ma'am... it's alright," he said softly. "Nothing's going to happen to you. We'll make sure you get home safe."

Large hazel eyes turned his way once more. "Thank you, Mister...?"

"Smith. Joshua Smith." 

Heyes smiled uncertainly at Amelia's puzzled expression and he was grateful when Sarah Henderson spoke.

"You can't possibly do that, it's such a long ride out to your property. I insist you come home with us, maybe stay for a couple of days." Sarah took Amelia's hand in hers. "Just until you get over the shock."

Still a little dazed Amelia nodded and whispered her thanks.

Heyes stepped to one side as Kid helped Amelia to her feet. He wished he could tell Sarah that, if her previous reaction to trauma was anything to go by, it could take considerably longer than a couple of days before Amelia got over the shock, but he decided that sort of knowledge might pose more questions than he was willing to answer. He couldn't risk it.

Outside the courthouse the news of Emmett Dearborn's arrest was already spreading. Several small groups of people stopped their conversations to watch as Amelia and Sarah were helped into the Henderson's carriage by Jim and Kid, while Heyes quickly ducked around the side of the building to fetch their horses. 

Progress down the busy main street was slow prompting Heyes and Curry to pull back a little and follow the carriage at a distance so they could talk. Having numerous pairs of eyes turned their way was also spooking them as did the appearance of the Sheriff and his Deputy at the door of the jail as they rode past. 

Both former outlaws were thinking the same thing; wondering how long it would be before Emmett Dearborn started to speculate about how those documents got into his safe. They didn't feel they had too much to worry about as far as Sheriff Lindstrom was concerned — he seemed to like them — but this new, smart, sharp-eyed Deputy (the Sheriff's own words, not theirs), he might just start to wonder what Thaddeus Jones, a friend of Jim Stokely's, was doing at the ranch at all. Then, if Doc Urwin was questioned about a certain Professor ... well, it might be a good idea not to stay around much longer.

Leaning toward his partner Kid murmured. "What do we do now, Heyes?"

"We should ride out."

"I know that but... you do know Jim and Sarah are gonna want to thank us proper. Might be rude to just up and ride out."

"I guess it would," Heyes acquiesced, then added, "Anyway, Jim still owes us money."

Blue eyes narrowed.

"What?" Heyes asked with a shrug.

"Nothin'."

"Look, next time we've had a long day in the saddle and you're gripin' 'cause you're tired and hungry, just remember that if we hadn't collected our money we wouldn't be able to afford a hotel for the night, or buy something to eat!"

"Alright, alright. We get our money — then we ride out."

"Kid, you're finally starting to think like me."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Back at the Henderson ranch Sarah and Jim, together with the heroes of the hour Smith and Jones, all enjoyed a celebratory lunch. 

Not long after they had arrived Amelia had made her apologies and retired to the guestroom. The morning's events had taken a lot out of her and, Heyes had to admit, the poor woman did looked exhausted.

Having thanked Joshua and Thaddeus once more, Sarah had also excused herself from their company to check on the unexpected houseguest, leaving the three men sitting on the back porch enjoying their cigars in the late afternoon sunshine.

In her absence Heyes took the opportunity to enlighten the others as to how he had fabricated his disguise. One of Nibs' coloured powders had been an ideal way to temporarily colour his dark brown hair, and the forger's ink had dyed the hair he had surreptitiously cut from the long silky mane of a palomino at the livery stables in order to construct his beard and moustache. The suit he had hired, as well as the buggy. He had to admit to taking a liking to the black bowler hat but, with the kind of life he and the Kid led it wouldn't be practical to keep it, so he had reluctantly returned it to Nibs.

"That was quite a plan, Joshua. I'm sure sorry I didn't see that disguise," laughed Jim. He puffed thoughtfully on his cigar for a moment. "And boys, I have to admit, there's a lot more to you two than just robbing banks and railroads."

"Hey, keep it down Jim, Sarah might hear you," warned Heyes glancing warily toward the door, but he couldn't quite hide the whisper of a self-satisfied smile. "Just so long as you remember — we're going straight."

Stokely nodded. "I'll remember."

Suddenly, Kid had one of his 'horrible thoughts'. "What about that medicine you gave Mrs Dearborn, you sure it won't harm her none?" 

"My Aretaeus Nerve Elixir? Naw, it's just an herbal tonic that I got from the mercantile. I poured half of it away and topped it up with brandy to help her sleep," explained Heyes, crossing his feet on top of the porch railing. "Nibs printed me a new label for the bottle when he did the rest of the stuff."

"I don't know how I stopped myself from laughing when I stepped into that room and saw you standin' there holdin' Amelia's hand. I thought Dearborn was goin' to throw a fit." Kid grinned at Heyes.

"Yeah, I figured you nearly lost your poker face there for a minute." Heyes returned the grin then turned to Jim. "When we worked with Soapy we both got real good at impersonating all kinds of people." Heyes glanced back at his cousin. "I guess you just haven't seen me do it lately."

"Not seen you impersonate someone?!" Kid exclaimed, before lowering his voice. "In case you've forgotten, we impersonate a couple a fellas called Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones every day." 

Jim and Heyes both chuckled at this remark. All three men then settled back in their chairs and puffed lazily on their cigars.

It was Jim who eventually broke the comfortable silence. "I know I haven't given you your money yet, boys, and that's 'cause there's one more thing I'd like you to do for me," he said, studying his cigar as he rolled it between his forefinger and thumb.

"Yeah, and what's that?" Curry asked with an exasperated sigh and a hint of steel in his eye. He was looking forward to spending some of it on a comfortable hotel bed in which he intended to sleep for twelve hours straight, at least.

Jim turned to Heyes. "I want you to crack Hank's old safe. The one here, in the study."

"You want me to what?" Heyes' feet hit the floor with a thud and he glared at Jim.

"C'mon now, don't look at me like that. I want to be able to tell my grandchildren that I saw Hannibal Heyes, the most successful outlaw the West has ever seen, crack a safe."

Despite the blatant massaging of his ego, Heyes ran his tongue along his teeth and huffed. He wasn't just annoyed at being expected to perform like a trick pony, but also at Jim for using his real name — again.

Jim returned the glare with a steady look.

"Okay, okay," the former 'successful outlaw' said irritably as he got to his feet and ground his heel onto what remained of his cigar. Kid and Stokely followed him indoors.

Heyes stood in front of the safe with his hands on his hips and a pensive look on his face.

"What's the matter?" asked Kid. 

A definite shake of the head. "Can't do it."

Kid Curry peered at his partner then at the simple vault with a frown.

"Aaw, you're not gonna go and get all noble on me now, are you?" protested Jim. "Why, you broke into Dearborn's safe not more'n two days ago!"

"Noble? Me? No. It's just that..." Heyes rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then glanced at Kid with the hint of a twinkle in his eye and said simply, "I'm gonna need that stick of dynamite from my saddlebags."

Understanding, Kid swiftly turned on his heel. "I'll get it, right away."

"DYNAMITE!" 

Seeing the look of horror on Jim Stokely's face the partners burst out laughing.

"Now, Jim, watch carefully because I'm only gonna do this for you once." Heyes crouched down by the safe. A couple of turns here, a couple of turns there, followed by a sharp tap with the edge of his fist and the door swung open. 

"There. Happy now?"

Jim Stokely shook his head in awe at the speed at which Heyes had opened the safe. He was unaware that Heyes had seen Hank Henderson open that very same safe once before and therefore knew the first number of the combination; he had only needed two more and those tumblers were easy to hear. 

"Here you are boys." He held out an envelope. "It's all there. The fifteen hundred I promised you for getting me out of jail, plus another five hundred apiece from Sarah for helping get Dearborn off our backs. And every single dollar is legitimate this time, I promise."

"Thanks, Jim," said Kid, shaking the man's hand.

"We can certainly use the extra money. Thank Sarah for us too," said Heyes, with a warm smile and a handshake as he took the envelope. Then his expression turned serious.

"Just one thing before we go. Sarah shouldn't keep any valuable documents in that." He cast a disparaging look at the safe. "She should keep them in the First National in town."

"In the bank? Are you sure?" queried Stokely. "You two might be outta the thievin' business these days but banks still get robbed, you know."

"I'm sure. Hire a lock box and they will store it in the safe."

Stokely wasn't convinced. "Safes can be cracked. You just demonstrated that yourself." 

"Not the one in the First National." Heyes was adamant. 

Kid's eyes slid sideways toward his cousin. "I can't believe you piped the bank," he grumbled. "Y' just can't help yourself, can ya?"

"I needed to change a twenty dollar gold piece," Heyes explained, blinking innocently. 

Ignoring the sidebar exchange between the partners Jim persisted, "I really don't see how you can be sure it won't get robbed."

The left dimple began to deepen. "The First National has a brand new, foolproof safe. A Pierce and Hamilton 1878." 

"So?"

The smile broadened. "There's only one person who has ever opened a P&H '78 without the combination, Jim....and that person happens to be me."

Hannibal Heyes carefully folded the envelope containing the money and tucked it into his shirt pocket. 

It was time to ride out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the blatant sexism but, this is our boys... and it is 1883!
> 
> I couldn't resist giving the 'Professor' the name Gauner. In German, gauner can mean rogue, rascal, crook, scoundrel, swindler, thief.
> 
> **John Henry Tunstall owned a cattle ranch in Lincoln County, New Mexico. One of Tunstall's cowboys was a young man named Henry McCarty, aka William Henry Bonney, aka Billy the Kid. He was known for his lightning-fast draw.


End file.
